The Keeper

BB Ruth

Rating: R
Genres: Angst, Mystery
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 07/06/2008
Last Updated: 03/08/2014
Status: completed

A Post DH/Post Epilogue fic. Four years after Hermione resigns from her job at the Ministry and moves away, she is forced by necessity to ask Harry to take care of Hugo. Harry doesn't know that Hugo is his son.

Chapters

1. Four Years Later

2. Death In Knockturn Alley

3. One Troubled Teen

4. Finding Out

5. Jean Peverell

6. The Master of Death

7. The Missing Wand

8. Uncle Warren

9. The Unofficial Minister Of Magic

10. Partners

11. Behind the Scenes

12. Expected and Unexpected

13. Woes of a Former Fangirl

14. Three Women and a Baby

15. Escape

16. Finnigan's

17. Could, Would, Should

18. Remedial Divination

19. His Friend Hermione

20. Pillars

21. Apologies, Apologies

22. Breakfast with Coffin Boy

23. Breaks in the Norm and More of the Usual

24. The Measure of Ifs

25. Delusions of the Fairy Tale Kind

26. Their Bed, Their Room, Their Place

27. A Difficult Read

28. A Perfect Instance In Time

29. The Epiphany

30. Complicated

31. Her Little Secrets

32. Skeletons In Her Closet

33. Fear

34. An Obvious Symbolic Connection

35. Saint Petersburg

36. The Resurrection Stone

37. The Ring

38. A Deathly Negotiation

39. The Rude Awakening

40. New Beginnings

41. Intentions

42. Hay, Horse, Carriage

43. Dandelions

44. The Affair

45. Why Good People Lie

46. A Second Chance

47. A Family of Runners

48. A Not So Olive Branch

49. The POTH

50. The Fortune Teller

51. Portals

52. Four Years Ago

53. Getting Nowhere

54. The Invincibility Stones

55. Connections

56. A Mother's Apology, A Son's Forgiveness

57. Dungeon Reunions

58. Wand vs Stone

59. Politicking

60. Stone vs Stone

61. Timeteller Troubles

62. Half Yours, Half Mine

63. Desperate Moves

64. Fight or Flight

65. Anatomy of a Hero

66. Difficult Choices

67. The Tale of the Three Brothers

68. The Chameleon Unravelled

69. The Fountain of Hope

70. Flight of the Phoenix

71. The Path To Destiny

72. Time Warp

73. Son of Death vs Master of Death

74. Epilogue

1. Four Years Later

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world – JK Rowling’s. I’m just borrowing for fun.

A/N. I’m starting with the usual warnings –

The Keeper is a mystery/angst novel-length fic, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Epilogue and based on canon outcomes. This will not be pretty. (There go half of the readers.) I love AU and non-canon based stories but I needed to write one that dealt with the outcomes of the ships in the books without killing off major characters (translates as I am crazy and a glutton for punishment). It is a story that picks up four years after my post DH one-shot The Sacrifice (not Portkey compliant) but no worries if you didn’t read that. The necessary bits of it will be in this one.

There will be an HHr affair in this fic…it will be short (at least I think it will be). I know – I ask myself the same thing – if it will be short why even bother.

Angst – yes. If you never liked TCC and TPP, don’t waste your time.

Don’t ask me how long the story is. I’m terrible at chapter estimates but it’s safe to say it won’t be 68 chapters long – I hope not! LOL!

And as I am posting this in Portkey, it will be Portkey compliant. Much of it is unwritten and in my experience in two other novel length fics, reader reviews and opinions do influence what I write.

Enough chat – here’s The Keeper.

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Chapter 1 - Four Years Later

14 September 2021 - About 5 a.m., somewhere in Southeast Asia

A raging storm lashed angrily upon the small rural village, punishing it severely with howling winds and relentless rain. Lightning intermittently lit the flooded ground and thunder broke the monotonous sound of the downpour as a figure of a woman suddenly appeared in the middle of a rice paddy.

Immediately drenched from head to toe, she cast off the used magical transport device and paused to regain her bearings, trying to figure out which way to go. Unfortunately this was as far as the emergency Portkey could take her and she had to get to her ultimate destination on foot. Her only hope was that she wouldn't be too late. They now knew who she was, knew where she lived and would find her quickly.

Recognizing something familiar, she began to trudge barefoot through knee deep mud, slipping and sliding frequently, the sporadic electrical discharge from the sky the only thing illuminating her path home. She moved as fast as she could, ignoring the agonizing pain in her chest and legs and the need to stop to breath.

A zipping sound pierced the air and a sharp pain cut through her left shoulder from behind with such a force she lost her balance and fell forward. They found her. She had been shot, a flesh wound but it hurt and bled profusely nonetheless. Her pursuers were close and were gaining ground.

Another gunshot rang out and plunked into the bank of the rectangular plot, narrowly missing her head. She could hear them. There were two men arguing in some dialect, a language she was not familiar with. Transient hired muscle, she concluded. She crawled into the adjacent field and hid under the cover of yet to be harvested grain.

Contemplating her next move, she decided that using magic was not only unfair but potentially counterproductive. She groped around for something, anything that she could use as a weapon and she felt wood a couple of feet to her right. It was a three foot long four inch thick bamboo. That would suffice. Already poised to attack, she patiently waited.

As the second man passed she crept up from behind him and swung hard, hitting a targeted area at the back of his skull. The bamboo cracked on impact, vibrating in her hand before she let go of it as the burly man face-planted into the soft earth. The taller one heard and turned, gun aimed at her but she was quicker; her finger was already on the trigger of his partner's Glock 21. She squeezed it and the bullet punctured the goon's forearm, shattering bone, injuring nerve and muscle and forcing him to drop his weapon. His howl drowned by the continuous deluge, the man scampered away as she rapidly emptied the clip at his feet, discarding the .45 calibre pistol once it was empty.

A female voice crackled over the air, "Jose…come in…over…"

Somebody was trying to get in touch with the passed out 'Jose' through an antiquated Muggle device, a two way radio. There would be more armed Muggles soon and it was only a matter of time before a magical squad was sent to track her down. The woman got on the slick elevated man-made path and resumed her run. There was not a moment to lose. She had to get to her son.

In a couple more minutes she looked up ahead in the clearing and was heartened by the sight of what she had called home for about a year. She disengaged the protective wards long enough to get through and magically secured the usually unlocked front door wandlessly. A spare weapon was inside a nearby cupboard and she grabbed it, replacing the one she lost at the meeting. She cleaned up and dried herself up somewhat on her way to her son's room, reaching his bed just as he woke up.

"Mum?"

"It's that time," she was still trying to catch her breath, the gnawing pain on her shoulder now constant.

"What's happening?" the thirteen-year-old boy with a mess of raven hair and deep green eyes sprang up to a seated position. He grabbed his spectacles from the bedside table and put them on. There was alarm in his voice and expression as the singular lamp in his room shed light on her injured condition, "Mum, you're bleeding!"

"I'm fine. Listen to me," she took him by the shoulders and said with a gravity she had never spoken to him before, "There are evil men who are on their way as we speak. They must not find you here. We talked about this many times and you promised."

"But Mum…"

"You promised me you'd listen and you wouldn't argue."

Sensing the urgency in her voice, the young man got up and changed into faded jeans, a white shirt and runners while she summoned a rucksack prepared from long ago.

"What about you?" he asked, reluctantly taking the backpack from her, tears visibly streaming down his cheeks.

"I can't leave."

She had to stop them now. Running away would be futile for they would track her down.

"I can help…"

"NO! I need you safe!"

"Maybe Dad can help."

"The Ministry already chose to stay away. This is not your Dad's fight," she explained for the umpteenth time. The last thing she wanted was to get Ron involved. She appealed to him, "Promise me you won't tell him."

The boy hesitated.

"Promise me!"

"I promise," he resigned himself to her wishes as he brushed the wetness off his cheeks. He sniffed, the crying had stopped for now, "I'm going to Dad's then?"

She held up an old Air Jordan sneaker and transformed it into a Portkey. They should be home by now.

Swallowing the lump that was in her throat, the answer came out stiffly, almost apologetically, "You're going to your father's."

"My father's," he repeated. Resentment replaced the concern in the boy's eyes as he grasped the Portkey in his other hand, "Is he expecting me?"

She nodded. She called and talked with him and his wife before all hell broke loose when it became apparent it would. The thing was bigger than she thought it was.

"Stay with him...until I sort this out. He'll protect you."

"I don't want his protection. I don't need it," her son replied defiantly.

The sight made her heart ache. It reminded her so much of how his father was at his age questioning the wisdom of those older who had decided for him. Intuitively she knew that would be the wrong thing to say. He already hated it that physically he looked so much like Harry.

"You could be right but I disagree, so just humor me and stay with him until this is over, okay?"

Hugo was a good kid. He would do it because she asked.

"He doesn't even know I'm his. How sure are you he will protect me? Or do you want me to give him and Aunt Ginny your letters?"

He eyed her keenly. The letters were for when he decided that he was ready to let the truth out and she couldn't tell Harry and Ginny in person. It was not fair to have him deal with this on his own. On the other hand she needed Harry's help with Hugo and to help effectively Harry had to know. Experience had made Hugo more mature than his thirteen years and he saw her conflict. Hugo shrugged.

"I don't care," he deadpanned but the hurt showed in his eyes, "If you want I'll give them the letters and it'll be good because they'll send me away."

"They won't send you away," she reassured him, recognizing his fear of rejection despite the brave front, "And if you are ready to let everyone know I prefer that you wait for me and not face this alone."

Hugo nodded. It was her fault that he didn't know his father well, that he didn't want to know his father. Since telling him the truth two years ago conversations about his other biological parent were infrequent and, recently, testy at best. He was only eleven then and while she knew he would not fully understand why she did what she did, she thought it the appropriate moment. They had just moved for the third time in two years and he was in a new school. Hugo could start, at least physically, being himself.

He was hurt and mad at her then and rightfully so. Guilt filled her that day she robbed him of the remainder of his childhood. When she decided to have him, she knew that time would eventually come but she never thought it would be this horrible. And when Hugo got over being angry at her he directed his ire at his father despite her insistence that Harry was not at fault. The few times they went back to London to visit Hugo chose to stay clear of Harry. He kept to himself and had eventually withdrawn even from his sister Rose and his best friend and 'cousin' Lily. Hugo was miserable every time they visited and after their trip last year told her flat out he preferred not to visit anymore. Now she was asking him to live there with someone he disliked, maybe even despised.

Hugo brooded silently and she felt the storm within him. Like his father when he got this way it was best to leave him be to sort it out. It was heart wrenching to watch knowing that she did this to him and all the reasons why she thought this would be okay faded in the background. This was not okay and while she had been perfectly willing to make the sacrifice to buy time and keep the rest of her family happy, she did not realize she had signed him up and condemned him to the same lot, not until it was too late. Her sacrifice was now his for as much as he wanted to be free of the lie she started he understood from the get go how the truth could destroy the people he cared the most about. And the decision to tell Harry was no longer entirely up to her.

Since leaving London four years ago things had not turned out the way she envisioned they would. How did she ever think this would be the best thing to do for him? Had she known then that he would suffer this much she would have let the truth out a long time ago and spread the hurt evenly around.

She watched Hugo as he magically altered his hair and eyes to the brown colour he had grown up with and guised under since infancy. In the past, she had to help with the transformation but he was adept at doing this now. His greatest motivation to learn was his preference to look this way. She pulled the boy into her arms and hugged him tight. He hugged back as his tears fell on her shoulder and hers on his.

"I have every intention of coming back for you," she said with determination, "But in case I'm somewhat delayed look after Rose, okay?"

He nodded through his sobs understanding exactly what she meant. She kissed him on the forehead and pulled away just as the Portkey glowed a bluish hue.

"I love you, honey," she choked on the words. "Tell Rose I love her, too."

At the next clap of thunder the darkness took her son away. She was comforted by the thought that Harry and Ginny would do the right thing. As she removed all evidence of Hugo being in the room and extinguished the lamp beside her, she sensed that the perimeter had been breached. She was right. The Fidelus had been broken. The front entrance provided token resistance. Five men moved swiftly into the house, all heavily armed and needing no real reason to kill. There were voices from the outside and some under the raised floor. She summoned another concealed wand and aimed both weapons at the entrance, ready to fight.

Three...two...one...

The door to Hugo's room came off its hinges and a sudden burst of bright light blinded her momentarily. A cacophony of gunfire and curses ensued. Hermione Granger remained calm as she fought back, thinking of Rose and Hugo, and how she had to see them again.

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2. Death In Knockturn Alley

A/N. To the brave hearts who have returned to read more, bear with me while I introduce new characters and re-acquaint you with some of Jo’s.

Thanks to those who left notes of encouragement. I do confess that I will be making most of the story up as we go along and would appreciate feedback about story direction.

Here’s what Harry’s been up to. Note that I’ve pushed the story back fourteen hours prior to Chapter 1.

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Chapter 2 – Death in Knockturn Alley

Fourteen hours earlier, Knockturn Alley, London

It was just before 8 a.m. Harry Potter crouched down and ducked under the yellow magical veil that delineated the crime scene from public access. His black messy hair was messier that usual and his green eyes were tired and bloodshot. He did not get much sleep last night and a dead body first thing Monday morning was not his idea of a good start to the week.

"Harry, over here!" a middle aged wizard with sparse hair and a walrus mustache called out to him from amongst the group of white coated people from Forensics.

"Hank," he greeted as he got closer, "What do you have?"

Henry 'Hank' Trussel was his Deputy and was one of the first to arrive on the scene. From the brief conversation they had about fifteen minutes ago Harry was told that the Magical Law Enforcement got a distraught call from one of the shop employees about finding the owner "cold and stiff" behind the counter. Harry followed Hank's gaze over to the still figure on the floor currently surrounded by the lab rats. Definitely cold and stiff.

"Blutus Borgin, 92, shop owner. According to the smart pretty lady over here he probably croaked sometime Saturday night, likely from a death curse."

Harry met the annoyed look of the 'smart pretty lady' Hank was making a pass at and nodded with his apologies.

"Jessie."

"Harry."

Chief Forensics Officer Jessica Hewitt was about five foot five, of average built, a couple of years older than he was, had kind grey eyes and graying blonde shoulder length hair. They had worked together on many cases for many years. She was irritated at Hank for flirting and was warning Harry to keep the veteran Auror away from her.

"Anything interesting?"

"I'm not done. When I am you'll be the first to know."

Translated, she was telling him and his team to back off.

Harry nodded a second time and gave her some space. He turned towards his deputy, looked around the shop and immediately noticed the obvious. The shelves were bare.

"Another robbery," Harry concluded; there had been two already before he went away for the weekend.

Hank agreed, "Same m.o. The geezer lived above the store. He must have heard something and walked in on the thieves."

The door to the back where the stairs to the second floor were was indeed behind the counter. It was possible that he walked in while the crime was in progress, except Harry knew for a fact that old Blutus was as deaf as a doorknob. He knew the wizard, having cased him earlier in his career. Borgin was a paranoid ass who never went anywhere without a holstered wand. The guy showered with it, peed with it, fucked with it.

"Did he have a wand on him?" Harry asked.

"Crooks must have taken it."

Maybe, but Hank was sometimes sloppy.

"Check his room, left side table drawer."

Harry just scanned and already knew it was there. So the old man was roused from sleep intentionally, taken down here because they needed him for something. Maybe.

"Where's the store safe?"

"In the wooden panel behind the register. It was cleaned out."

The thieves must have needed Borgin to open the safe. Harry took his wand out and examined it, looking for any hint of sophisticated magical charms and protections. There were none. It was the same safe as the others that were robbed but those ones the thieves blasted the locks off and during those ones, there were no deaths. Why get the old man to open this one and then kill him?

"Do we know what was in it?"

"Employee who found him doesn't know. I've sent Lupin to inform Borgin's partner and ask."

They could ask Caractacus Burkes Jr. but that was no guarantee they would get an honest answer. The shop owner clearly would not admit to missing any illicit magical artifact and whatever was in the safe was likely to be against the law. It was a pain but they'd have get Legal on their side and drag the seventy year old in for interrogation. Great. The day was shaping up to be a humdinger.

There was a sudden crash near the entrance. A coat rack had been accidentally toppled over and shattered the glass display case it fell on. Beside it rookie Auror Ted Lupin was red as he apologized profusely, his usual teal hair matching the flushed color on his face. Harry laughed inwardly as Ted repaired the damage, remembering his godson's Mum and how clumsy she was too.

"Well?" Hank, who never knew Nymphadora Tonks Lupin because he joined the London Aurors after Voldemort, asked Ted impatiently.

"Old man said it was empty. He was obviously lying."

The kid was sharp for a rookie. Harry would have never accepted him into the force had he thought he did not have what it took to be a good Auror. Hank did not like smart rookies. They made him look bad.

"Get Legal to get his ass in for questioning," Hank ordered him.

"Done," the young man said plainly. His wife's uncle, Percy Weasley, was in Legal. "He's back at the office in room one. I figured you'd want to do it your..."

"Yeah, can it. Let's go."

Ted followed his senior partner after saying goodbye to Harry and Disapparated just outside the store.

“Harry,” Jessie called out, “I may have something for you.”

He went over to where the dead body was and watched the CFO as she lifted it up magically, rotating him while keeping him afloat in the air.

“What do you see?”

She asked and he looked. Jessie liked doing this, putting Aurors on the spot because often times evidence was second hand when they got to her office and an observant Auror could pick things up forensics might not. He liked it too because it made him think and he saw what she was seeing. The purplish red discoloration of lividity was present even in body parts that were in contact with the floor. They were noticeable absent around his wrists and ankles.

“He didn’t die on the floor but was bound at the wrists and ankles around the time he passed on,” Harry said to her.

She nodded, “I’ll check more closely once I’m in the lab and let you know what else I find. I suspect he was tied up before he was AK’d then moved here for show more than twelve hours after he was actually dead.”

“Interesting,” Harry muttered, questions that needed answers coming to mind.

“Interesting indeed.”

As Forensics carried on with the investigation he went back to the Ministry. Like the CFO, the Head Auror wasn’t expected to be personally working each case but he preferred field work to the more paper pushing, political and administrative functions that were now the bulk of his job.

He came out of the Apparition designated area and into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. Without thought, he reached into his pocket, retrieved from it a golden coin and was about to hand it off when he was surprised to find himself at the end of a long line of displeased customers. Strange. Thinking it an essential part of his day, he waited patiently and when he got to the front, paid for the morning edition of the Daily Prophet.

"Here you go, Mr. Potter," the tall, thick-chested hairy man behind the counter recognized him and handed him the news, wiping the sweat off his brow with a white handkerchief.

"Thanks. Keep it," he replied and the man promptly pocketed the hefty tip. Harry took the news bud, stuck it in his right ear and asked, "Where's Phil?"

"He was feeling under the climate," the substitute answered, serving an annoyed regular who was used to getting quicker service. "He should be back in a couple of days."

The news man turned away as the other customers growled impatiently, bemoaning the fact that Phil never missed a day of work in twenty years. Harry thought that almost impossible even if elves never got sick but had no proof that wasn't true so he walked away without saying anything. Substitute guy was doomed and wouldn't last the morning.

Good morning, Mr. Potter, a witch from the Dept of Mysteries nodded.

"Good morning," he greeted back.

"Harry," another man said to him.

"Miles," he responded, vaguely remembering the guy from Communications.

This was the usual every day. On his way to the lifts he passed by the Fountain of Hope, the imposing structure made of gold, silver and bronze that occupied the centre of the Ministry of Magic Atrium. A couple of visitors were gawking at the impressive magnified lifelike statues of magical and non magical children gathered around that of a bespectacled boy wizard with a wand in his hand. The statue's uncanny resemblance to a certain kid who survived the murderous intentions of a most evil wizard some twenty five years ago was not incidental and time did not lessen his discomfort of and dislike for the darn fountain.

Moving on and getting into the elevator, Harry politely returned the greetings from more co-workers, some of whom he didn't really know, and started watching and listening to the Daily Prophet news video. By the time he walked into his office his entire attention was on the headlines. He had been away for a couple of days and this was what greeted him back to work.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter."

Somebody said as he got to his near empty desk. He looked up. A tall, reed thin woman in a plaid skirt and ornate blouse had followed him in and set down a steaming fresh cup of coffee on the table. She wore on her face her trademark bland expression.

"Good morning, Leila. Thanks."

Leila Gennaro was his admin assistant, had been since he got the job about five years ago. She was organized, bright and much older than he was; by how much he never dared to ask. Leila was very effective at what she did and most importantly was thick skinned and insensitive to his volatile temper.

"You're welcome. How was the trip?"

"It was good. Just got in late last night."

"Mrs. Potter?"

"She's fine."

"And did you actually spend time away from work?"

"I actually did," he emphasized actually.

He made sure of it. He and Ginny needed that time together.

"I've kept your schedule light today," Leila did the usual morning summary of where he had to be and when, "You have Hank in an hour…"

"An hour?" Harry protested.

He just met with Hank but after seeing the news that wasn’t going to be soon enough. A heads up from him this morning would have been nice. The Deputy he left in charge needed some ass kicking for bungling the investigation that was now all over the news.

"An hour, so you can settle down and he doesn't come out of your office threatening to resign."

"He should stop threatening and just do it."

Leila knew he would be harsh but calmer now he realized he didn’t want to pull Hank out of an interrogation because he was impatient about setting him straight.

"He's the only one interested in filling in for you when you're away. You need him so you can have a life," Leila reminded him.

"Leila, we all know this is my life," Harry said about himself condescendingly, half joking but it was not entirely untrue.

"A shame, Mr. Potter. A shame indeed," she reprimanded but knew it would fall on deaf ears, "The Minister has you for half an hour at eleven."

He listened and when Leila stopped talking he asked, "That's it?"

"You have a big fire to put out," Leila motioned to the news headline and closed the magical scheduler that linked to the one he had on his desk. "And an owl just came in from Hogwarts. I think it's from James."

Leila left his office and shut the door behind her. He walked over to the owl feeding station and retrieved the letter from the Hogwarts carrier. Parchment in hand, Harry sat on his chair and turned it around to look out the window, his gaze looking past the magnificent view of Muggle London. Thinking about his children made him think about Ginny. Unlike her, he wasn't sure if they had done the right thing.

He opened the note and recognized his fifteen year old son's handwriting.

Dad,

Had a bit of a spill during practice. My Racer had a most unfortunate encounter with the Whomping Willow. Can I get a Speedster5000? The Slytherin team got seven from the Malfoys. Mum says it's okay if you're okay with it.

Your broomless son,

James

Ginny already warned him. James was using divide and conquer to get what he wanted, throwing in the Malfoy name for good measure, because he had a feeling that they would not approve his use of the professional grade broomstick. He made a mental note to discuss the matter with Ginny again later but scribbled back.

James,

I'll send you another Racer. Fast brooms are for slow flyers who don't want to learn. And I already spoke with your Mum. Nice try.

Love,

Dad

The Hogwarts owl zoomed off. Harry took a sip of his coffee and immersed himself into work, entering the information and his impressions about the Borgin murder on file for Hank and Ted to check out.

Once that was done he settled down to his morning routine. Harry accessed the department active files to keep abreast of what his command of a seventy-five Aurors were up to the days before. He usually looked at the cases by team quadrants starting with the busiest central core and fanning out to the east, north and west divisions. The Auror Office was recently hit by a spate of retirements and deaths that it was one in transition. Of the four, the Ron Weasley led North team, despite the trend of increased dark arts activity in the area, was the only one running as it should. Hank ran the busy central core while two relatively new leads, George Bones and Barry Greengrass, ran the East and West teams, respectively.

He turned his attention back onto the news headlines.

Mysterious Robberies : Aurors Baffled

Since leaving for the Bahamas Friday morning eight more magical artifact stores, an auction house and two major private relic collectors had been robbed clean. Something was definitely up and he was pissed that his deputy failed to inform him of the other robberies. Browsing through the facts and data they had, he felt his temper rise even more. There was nothing. No stolen items list, no possible suspects, no interviews with persons of interest, nothing! And why did Hank admit to the press that it was baffling?!

Harry checked the interrogation room and found every one of them empty. The questioning should be over by now. He engaged the intercom on his desk and as the light went on tried his best to keep his voice under control.

"Get Hank in here! Now!"

There was silence.

"Please."

"Certainly, Mr. Potter," his assistant answered professionally.

"And no calls," he added, "Please."

"As you wish, Mr. Potter."

Two minutes later Hank was in his office sweating uncomfortably under his pointed interrogation and reprimand about how the case was being handled. The veteran Auror had been Deputy for the previous Head. Hank was unhappy about being bypassed for the top position, particularly because ex Head Auror Hosiah Humptail groomed and recommended him. He did express to Harry his desire to remain second in command, to help with 'transition'. Some help. Maybe Harry was being paranoid but time and time again he felt that Hank wanted to stick around to see him fail.

"But Harry, we don't have any witnesses, the owners are tight lipped because the stolen items are illegal, and we don't know what's really missing..."

He interrupted, "What did you get from Burkes?”

“I wanted to talk to you about that,” Hank said cautiously. More bad news, “He pulled some strings. Someone from within yanked Legal’s approval and he was out of here before Lupin and I got back.”

“Who was it?!”

“I don’t have clearance…”

Harry slammed a fist on his desk, “I don't want excuses, I want answers! I'm calling an Auror meeting in an hour and you better have some good ones by then!"

They had similar conversations in the past and Hank knew that he was dismissed. As Hank left his desk phone started ringing.

The speakerphone went on and he barked into the receiver, "I said no calls!"

A woman's voice, not Leila's, came over the air

"Having a bad day already?"

He had no time for games. The caller's ID did not register.

"Who is this?"

The woman let out an amused chuckle. It was familiar and recognizable.

"I don't know if I should be embarrassed or insulted. I know it's been a while but I didn't think you would forget me so easily."

He calmed down, the scowl on his face changed into a cross between a smile and a frown as he imagined her grinning on the other line. The last time they spoke was at Christmas. He looked out the window. Had it really been that long?

"Hermione," saying her name, felt odd, having not spoken it for some time, "This is a surprise. How are you?"

"I'm good," she replied cheerfully, "And you?"

"I'm okay. It's been too long. Way too long. You’ve been avoiding me."

Again that easy laugh. He missed hearing her laugh.

"Of course not. I've been busy. I'm glad you liked the cloak."

She sent him an Asian Invisibility Cloak for his birthday. He left her messages thanking her for it but never got a reply.

"We missed you and Hugo at the party."

"It was a horrible summer for Hugo. He felt too ill to travel," she explained then steered the conversation away, "I see Hank is still making you look bad and angling for your job. Some things never change."

Some didn't and some did.

"Don't tell me you called just to warn me about backstabbing co-workers," he retorted.

"Well, there's that and I need a huge favour."

A favour. The last time Hermione asked him for a favour was, hell, it had either never happened or happened a long time ago he had no memory of it.

"What is it?"

"It's about Hugo. Can he stay with you for a week or so?"

His sixth sense tingled and he didn't say anything right away. The pause was awkward and pressured her to talk more.

"I spoke with Ginny and she's okay with it."

Really.

"Is everything okay?"

"Things are fine. We’re hoping to have the school ready in time for a June opening next year. We're in the final stages of planning and I'll be in a lot of meetings over the next few days. Hugo will be bored stiff here. And I didn't want to burden Ron what with Anne just having the twins. I thought Hugo would be better off with you guys."

It was hogwash and she knew it. Why was she shoveling crap into his face?

"Shouldn't Hugo be in school? Shouldn't you just tell me what this is really about? Who's insulting whom now?" he wasn't mad, just disappointed.

There was silence then he heard her let out a long sigh.

"Okay. I'm sorry. I just didn't want you and Ron to worry."

"The lying is worrisome," that and the fact they had not spoken to each other in nine months. She must be in a real bind to ask him, "What's going on, Hermione?"

There was a slight hesitation in her voice.

"I don't know."

"Stop bullshitting."

"I honestly don't know but I'll find out more tonight. I just have a bad feeling and I don't want Hugo here or at school where he'll be by himself."

"What kind of trouble are you in?"

"I'm not," she answered immediately, "Really."

“Are you being harassed by bigots and zealots again?”

Hermione had been when the first Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical opened its doors somewhere in North America more than two years ago.

“No more than usual.”

She was holding back and being stubborn about it. Harry put on a call tracer.

"I can be there..."

Sure he was in the middle of something but he could.

"I don't think that's necessary. It's just a precaution..."

Someone distracted Hermione on the other end, something about a meeting starting earlier than scheduled. Harry recognized the voice, tone and accent and immediately made him feel more unsettled. It was Warren. Ron did mention that she was working with him again.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I have to go," there was clearly increased anxiety in her tone, "So, can Hugo stay with you?"

"Of course..."

"Thanks a lot, Harry. I'll call you back later and we'll talk," her words gushed out of her mouth and she hung up.

The tracer came back. He swore while reading the information before him.

Head Auror’s Office, London Ministry of Magic.

Hermione knew he would try to trace her whereabouts and had made the precautions so he wouldn’t be able to. Worried, he was about to call Ron to ask him to get in touch with her quickly when he was buzzed by an emergency page.

There was another murder in Knockturn Alley. Caractacus Burkes Jr. was dead.

3. One Troubled Teen

A/N. Thanks to those who read and reviewed.

Moving along now. First Harry at work then Ron and his personal life. I hope this answers some questions about what Hermione has been up to the past few years.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 3 - One Troubled Teen

Knockturn Alley was a zoo when Harry got there. Several Aurors were on the scene and more were popping in, responding to the all-units call he activated as he left his office.

It was obvious that nobody had taken charge yet. He cast a civilian specific anti-Disapparition charm along the length of the lane, the stores, the shops and residences on it, and then bellowed out instructions randomly.

"Filtworth, Jiggs and Lintcoming, crowd control. Don't let anyone leave until I say so. Dunder, Wells, shut the alley entrance and keep the gawkers out. Peabody, Quank start polling for witnesses."

In the chaos he picked up Jessie Hewitt's distressed voice and approached the CFO. She was talking with one of his men and appeared shaken up. A couple of feet to her right just beside the store entrance was the lifeless body of Caractacus Burkes Jr.

"I had just told him he wasn’t welcome inside when two wizards in black robes appeared, disarmed us both, cursed him and Disapparated. Hank and Ted went after their magical signatures."

"Assemble teams of five and help pursue," Harry said to one of the other Aurors and then turned his attention to Jessie, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Just trying to get my nerves settled down," she replied annoyed at herself as she put her unsteady hands together. "These wizards were confident and cocky, to do this right here right now…"

She didn’t finish but Harry knew what she meant. The brazen daylight attack on Burkes just outside his store while the place was still crawling with MLE indicated arrogance, desperation or both.

"Did Burkes know them?"

"I think so. One of them spoke and asked him ‘Where is it?’. He replied that he couldn't tell them, that he wasn't the Keeper. Then they murdered him."

"Is that all they said?"

"Yes," Jessie said with certainty, then repeated the exchange for him, "Where is it? I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper."

"Anything else?"

"They had identical tattoos on the right wrist but I could only see part of it. Much was hidden under the sleeves of their robes. It was a letter. Maybe V or W. That's all I remember."

They would run it through the database. The hit was professional and organized. Chances were they were a known entity.

He asked for the sketch artist and had Jessie describe both wizards to him. As that was being done, he bent down on his knees beside Burkes, wondering what the man did to deserve this and why it couldn't wait.

Harry's gut told him that someone was spooked when the shop owner was picked up for questioning. The Ministry insider who pulled rank to set him free went from mere person of interest to prime suspect. It was possible that the intention underlying Burkes’ release was to send him straight to his death. If that were the case, did Burkes know it? And why would his 'friend' at the Ministry risk being implicated in something like this?

The Head Auror walked around and listened as the other eyewitnesses collaborated what Jessie had already told them. Ten minutes later the pursuit teams came back empty handed and a grim atmosphere hovered over them as each Auror Disapparated back to their beats. Harry left a senior Auror in charge of the crime scenes.

When he got to the Ministry a sudden impulsivity overcame him. Foremost on his mind was the identity of the insider who could be an accomplice to Burkes’ murder. The magical artifact robberies had been all over the news and this morning both the owners of Borgin and Burkes, arguably THE store for the darkest of dark relics, were dead. The question was who had the balls to mess around with an investigation of this magnitude? There were only two current Ministry employees who would dare mess with him.

He veered off track and instead of going to his office found himself barging into the Minister’s, not surprised to find the Minister of Magic with the Head of the Department of Mysteries.

“Harry, good timing,” Leonidas Jericho, incumbent Minister on his fifth and final year of term, said to him, “Come in and join us.”

“I’m not here for tea, Leo,” Harry said calmly but looked straight at the wizard to the Minister’s right. Head Unspeakable Cristo Maximus quickly masked his reflexive frown with a fake smile as Harry struggled to maintain self-control, “I just want to know which one of you is pissing all over my case.”

XXXXXXXXXX

It was close to midnight and Ron Weasley was in Neville Longbottom's Hogwarts office. Pacing the width of the plant adorned workspace he was red in the face from humiliation and anger and was trying to walk off a portion of it. As he did this he intermittently cast dagger looks at the pink-haired fifteen year old girl seated on the work stool who seemed unaffected by what the head of the House of Gryffindor just reported to him. She was stone faced and met his stare with indifference, daring him to lose it. He was so close if not for the reminder that the girl knew how to push his buttons. Rose Weasley was after all Hermione Granger's daughter.

He looked at his timeteller again. Mid-effing-night.

"Caught snogging in the prefect's bathroom?!" he finally blurted out, "When your Mum finds out…"

"Where is Mum, anyway?" the girl answered calmly as she crossed her arms across her chest. "I wanted to ask her if she'd ever done that."

He was right. As he suspected this show was for her mother.

"You should be ashamed of yourself!".

"I'm only ashamed because I got caught," her eyes narrowing at her cousin across the way, "If it weren't for the rat..."

Albus Potter defended himself, "I did it for your own good! Malfoy is bad news!"

"Who cares? He snogs well enough and we would have done more than snog had you not..."

"Enough! I don't want details!"

Ron interrupted just in time. It was bad enough thinking of his baby snogging a boy let alone Draco Malfoy's. Why oh why did it have to involve Ferret Jr.? The little twerp was definitely lucky that Neville had the presence of mind not to have him in the same room right now. And if the slimy brat ever as much as laid a finger on his Rosie again he would mince him into ground meat and feed him to piranhas! Argh!

He shot another fierce look at his daughter. Ron was ill equipped for this full blown female teenage crisis that he had in his hands. Where was her mother when he needed her?

"What's the matter, Dad? Can't stand the thought that I'm a scarlet woman? That I may not be a virg..."

"Rosie! Malfoy?!" her cousin exclaimed. "I think I'm going to barf."

Al was all flushed from disgust, Neville from awkwardness and him from rage. Rosie sat, watched their reactions and had a most satisfied look on her face.

"You are not seeing that boy again!"

"Honestly. What are you going to do if I do?" she asked with mocked sweetness with that smirk she inherited from her mother, "Pull me out of school? That would be great considering I've been trying to get myself expelled."

"Don't test me, Rose!"

"This is my fifth major offense in less than two weeks. If it were not for your and Mum's connections, I'd have been kicked out in the first week. How long do you think before you run out of favours to collect?"

It was then that Ron lost it. Pushing his buttons! He perfected pushing buttons into an art form even before she was conceived!

"Go ahead! Get yourself kicked out of school and continue to waste that brilliance that we all know you're blessed with. You're a bright kid and nothing will stand in the way of you getting what you want because you're just like your mother!"

"I am not like my mother!"

"Do you think the pink hair and all this acting out is fooling anyone? You can't cover up the obvious! You think you can skip school and go out there in the real world on your own because you're an arrogant know-it-all!"

"I am not a know-it-all!"

"And you're doing things your mother never did just to prove that you're not like her when in fact you are very much like her in this single-mindedness to prove that you're always right!"

Rose was crying from frustration, unable to say anything.

"If I am called here one more time because of your foolishness I will personally withdraw you from school and ground you at home until you become of age! Don't you come back to me crying if you end up flipping gurbers at McDougall's for the rest of your life!"

"You mean burgers at McDonald's, Uncle Ron," his nephew muttered, correcting him.

"Whatever! Do I make myself clear?!"

Rose nodded between her sobs.

"I didn't hear you!"

"Yes, Dad."

Ron tried everything to get through to her since this started at the beginning of the school year and this was how things usually ended up. It tore him up that he had to hurt her feelings to get her to listen. There had to be an easier way.

Hermione had tried too and although he wasn't around when she talked with Rose last week, Headmistress Septima Vector described the interaction as fire against hard metal. Metal won that round and Hermione retreated, telling him on the phone to keep her posted and let her know when Rose was ready to talk. Maybe Rose was ready now.

He looked at Neville and Al and said to them, "I'd like a moment with her alone."

After they left Ron's stance softened. When it came to Rose he was the easier parent.

"Rosie, you're smarter than this. I don't know why you're so angry at your Mum but whatever it was that happened when you visited her over the summer it's not worth ruining the rest of your life for. There are consequences for stupid behaviour. You are not a child anymore so stop acting like one."

Rose looked at him still with tears on her face, her voice cracking as she spoke, "All my life I hear people say that I'm just like her. Well I'm not like her, Dad. I just want everyone to realize that I'm not like her."

The declaration was punctuated with more sobbing. Ron was usually useless around crying girls but luckily paternal instincts came to the rescue. He took her in his arms and let her cry on his chest, stroking her colourful hair as he did.

He said to her softly, "Hush now. There is a difference between being her and being like her. You are not her but it's okay to be like her. Your Mum's a pretty amazing woman. You should be happy that people think you're alike."

"If she's pretty amazing then how come she's not married anymore and you have kids with another woman?"

Of all children to be had he got the one with the hard questions. He sighed, knowing that this was not really about his twin newborns or about her parents being divorced.

He pulled her back and told her, "I love your Mum and we tried our best to stay together. We tried many times but it just didn't work out. What happened between us was unfortunate but it had nothing to do with you or Hugo. And just because we broke up, that your Mum isn't with someone, doesn't make her less amazing."

His daughter was unconvinced. Unfortunately, his ex-wife had yet to tell him what transpired over the summer. She was always tight for time, always needing to be somewhere else. Ron surmised that Hermione was not really keen to talk because if she were she would have already done so. Really, since when did she ever have a problem fitting something into her schedule? Ron asked Hugo but the boy was tight lipped about it too. He had nothing to work on to soften Rose up.

"Rosie, you know you can talk to me about anything," he said to her, then remembered how he didn't want to hear about her snogging and losing her...

"Dad, honestly now," she said to him her brows raised and sounding so grown up as she thought the same thing.

"Okay, almost anything. If you can't tell me what's troubling you then talk with your Mum."

She's so much better at this than I am.

After a few seconds, Rose answered.

"Hogsmeade weekend is coming up. I'll owl her."

"Good girl," Ron tried not to show how ecstatic he was. Was he a genius or what?! "And you really should be thankful you take after her."

"Why is that?"

"How would you feel if people started saying you're like me?"

It was a joke but Rose replied seriously without batting an eyelash, "You're a great guy, Dad. I would be fine with that."

"Hairy chest, scruffy beard, deep voice? Are you sure?"

"Dad!"

He smiled and said nothing. Yes. Rose was so much like her mother. He considered telling her to lose the pink hair but thought he'd quit while he was ahead. That battle was for another day. Ron opened the door and let Neville and Al back in.

"Uncle Neville, can we go now?" she asked the Herbology Professor who nodded at her and her cousin.

"I'll see you both in the morning."

"And don't be too hard on, Al," Ron said after her, "He's just looking out for you."

"I suppose I can forgive him," Rose replied as they left. "Rat."

"Mule. Malfoy? What the hell's wrong with your brain?"

"It's called hormones, something you seem to have a shortage of."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You figure it out. I have something wrong with my brain, remember?"

Ron heard them exchange additional pleasantries. It felt odd seeing his pink haired Hermione-like daughter argue with Harry's look-a-like.

"Sometimes, they remind me of you and Hermione," Neville pointed out what he felt himself. "Did you get it sorted out?"

"Only Hermione can sort her out," Ron shared with Neville, "She did agree to talk with her Mum this weekend. Which reminds me, don't tell Hermione what I said about her, okay. She's going to kill me."

Neville laughed thinking Ron was joking around.

"It's too bad she couldn't be here tonight. How is Hermione?"

"Fine, busy with her projects, you know," Ron replied vaguely, hoping Neville wouldn't ask further.

It worried him that Hermione didn't reply to the message about Rose's latest antics, the one he sent through his timeteller. A while back she cast a bidirectional Protean charm on the face of his watch and linked it with the golden locket she had on her all the time.

"I hope she has time to drop by and visit an old friend. I haven't seen her in a while."

He hadn't either. A year. Hermione had not been home in a year and that was when her Mum died. And before then it had even been longer. Since resigning from the Ministry he had seen her maybe four or five times and talked with her sparingly, mostly about Rose, Hugo and school. When she told him she was moving years ago it never crossed his mind that this would happen.

"I'll let her know."

"Last I heard she was putting together another school with an integrated curriculum. There were many skeptics but the one in North America is being talked about as a huge success."

That depended on who one asked. It was a success because it finally got off the drawing sheets and became a reality. Hermione was the visionary behind it and one of the four founders of the school but in the process of breaking norms and putting magical and non magical children in one learning environment, she made a lot of enemies. Around the time the first school was set to open, she received constant death threats and escaped two assassination attempts by fanatics who thought the concept damaging to society's natural balance and a danger to the Statute of Secrecy.

Ron heard Neville continue, "The word on the street is that it offers the best academic and social education for leaders of tomorrow."

That was what the extremists were afraid of; the shift in thinking that could effect real and lasting change. Despite the danger to her life, Hermione being Hermione refused to be intimidated. The resistance only bolstered her belief that she was doing the right thing. Precautions were made to protect students and faculty. The school grounds, like Hogwarts, was unplottable and impenetrable, guarded by magic Ron could not even pretend to understand. That first year it took in fifty carefully selected students from a thousand applications, the following year a hundred more and this year another two hundred. Change was slowly happening.

"There does seem to be growing acceptance of the concept."

"Well, if someone can pull off putting magical and non magical children in the same school it would be Hermione," Neville added. “She must be happy about the results.”

Ron nodded.

Encouraged by the outcomes, Hermione decided to establish another school in Asia. With her and her family's safety a concern, she was now making it impossible for anyone to know exactly where she was. Why she thought it best to keep him and everyone else she knew uninformed about her exact whereabouts was beyond him.

"But you should know all about this. Hugo's a third year in the program."

"His best mate is a Squib werewolf."

"It must feel odd though that Hugo's not attending Hogwarts," Neville commented innocently.

"A bit," Ron admitted. "If Hugo were here he could have kept an eye on his sister."

Although he wasn't Hugo's biological father the boy was as good as his. Had Hermione asked him for his opinion he would have preferred Hugo at Hogwarts. She never did.

"Rosie's a good kid. She'll come around."

"Thanks for all this Neville."

"I would expect the same from you if I had children. How are Anne and the twins?"

"Oh shit!" he exclaimed, suddenly remembering something.

On cue his video phone began to ring and he quickly answered, "Hi dear…yes, we just finished with the meeting. Neville says hi…Rosie's settled, for now…no I didn't forget…right away…bye."

"Is everything okay?"

"Anne insists on doing everything concerning Sam and Brian the Muggle way," he groaned, "I'm on emergency diaper run."

"Seriously?"

Ron's eyes involuntarily rolled upwards, "I barely survived having one baby at a time. Anne has very high expectations. And I say this even though I was married to Hermione."

Neville commiserated with his pain, "Good luck, mate."

They walked down the aisle to Neville’s office fireplace. Ron thanked him again and just as he was about to Floo out, his Auror pager buzzed. It was the Minister.

He excused himself and called in. Dialing into the main Auror line and waiting to get connected, he was troubled. The Minister never called him directly. Any business went through the Head Auror. Merlin, had something bad happened to Harry?

"Ron, where are you?" Leonidas Jericho asked seriously.

"Hogwarts. Is everything okay, Mr. Minister?"

"See me in my office right away," the Minister replied solemnly, "And you might want to bring your daughter with you."

It was midnight. He had a sinking feeling about this.

"What's going on?"

"I'm afraid I have some bad news."

XXXXXXXXXX

4. Finding Out

A/N. I have been warned.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 4 - Finding Out

The time teller behind the bar read 11:52. There were not that many patrons at Finnigan's that Monday night. The bartender was trying to appear busy, stacking liquor and supplies under the counter, hoping that he'd get lucky and the regulars would leave early. Finnigan's was a pub strategically situated along Diagon Alley around the bend from Knockturn Alley. It wasn't worth the money and effort serving drunks of dubious character who frequented the place at the late hour.

The bell at the entrance jingled. He looked up. Two hooded figures came in through the right side of the door and headed straight for the bar.

Shit!

The barkeep recognized one of them. He was usually more discrete. The man had reason to be pissed but surely not enough to get him killed!

Shit!

The older wizard sat on the stool right in front of him while the other leaned on the counter, facing the almost empty room, presumably to watch the Head Auror's back.

"Hey Dung. Firewhiskey, in a clean glass, please."

Mundungus Fletcher, less malodorous and more kempt than years before, took a dirt free towel, wiped down a shot glass, filled it and set it in front of him.

"What about your partner?" he asked anxiously.

Harry Potter looked calm enough. Maybe he wasn't so pissed.

"He's working," Harry emptied the glass in one motion, "Let's talk."

"I'm busy."

He filled the glass again.

"Let's talk anyway. Tell me about the burglaries."

"I told Teddy what I know," he replied and cast a furtive glance at the table of misfits in the corner of the pub.

"You told me didly squat, asshole," the other wizard cursed at him.

"I could get killed if someone sees me talking to you," he ignored the rookie's remark and hissed at the Chief hoping Harry would back off and they could take this conversation elsewhere.

"If you told Ted what I needed to know I wouldn't be here. You brought this onto yourself," Harry said to him matter-of-factly, "You know the drill. The sooner you tell me something I can work with the sooner I'm out of your face. So, what will it be?"

The Auror summoned the bottle of firewhiskey and poured more into the glass himself. If Harry Potter sat there long enough someone would definitely recognize him and come to the conclusion that the Head Auror wasn't there for the firewhiskey. This was the lengthiest he'd stayed in an honest job and he was too old to move or find something else.

"Fine," he relented, resigned to the fact that Harry would not leave him alone. "What do you want to know?"

"I want names. Good ones, not the crap you sent Ted on a wild goose chase on."

The barkeep looked around again before answering without moving his lips, "Bole, Montague."

"Which one?"

"Both."

"Both?"

"Both."

"You're telling me they've gotten much better than the bungling teenagers they were a couple of years ago."

"I'll be sure to tell them you said so."

"And?"

"That's all I know."

"Well I guess you'll have to make a third one up and lie. We both know those two are mediocre hired hand. Who's the brain?"

"Fuck, Harry. I swear to Merlin I don't know."

Harry's eyes bored straight through him and let it go, maybe deciding that he was telling the truth.

"Borgin and Burkes?"

"Part of the hit."

"And Borgin's murder?"

"If I told you what the word out on the street is you wouldn't believe me. I wouldn't believe me."

"That'll be no different for some of the stuff you tell me. What's the story?"

"You know Borgin and Burkes Sr. built the store from nothing. When Senior died years ago, Junior inherited everything but didn't have the stomach for the kind of business they were running. He wanted to buy ole Blutus out and go all legit but it wasn't until recently that he finally had the cash to make a decent offer.

"Anyway, Borgin's been blabbing in here to just about anyone who'd listen that his partner did not have half the balls his old man did. There was no way in hell he was selling or changing his business, not for all the money in the world. So the word is Junior killed his partner."

"Because he wanted to go legit?"

"Ironic, I know but maybe more for the dig on the weight of his bollocks than for anything else. A man's got to protect his privates."

"And he staged it to make it look like it happened during a robbery."

"It was by happy coincidence the place got robbed. That is if you believe in coincidence."

"Like I believe in Santa. And Burkes?"

His body stiffened and he started sweating like a pig. Mundungus heard about the execution in broad daylight. He didn't want to get involved.

"Nobody talks about that one, Harry. You get what I'm getting at?"

The Head Auror got up and slid a couple of galleons on the counter.

"Fair enough. Thanks Dung. Say hello to Seamus for me and you might want to reserve the watered down stuff to drunks."

Mundungus Fletcher blushed and watched Harry Potter leave Finnigan's. He was relieved but not by very much.

Shit!

He owed Harry for setting him up with the bar owner and for what was left of his life. As much as he wanted to avoid the man because he was reminded of what a coward he was, the Boy Who Vanquished would have his loyalty forever and would assist, albeit sometimes reluctantly, if need be. He and Dumbledore were two of a kind.

Shit!

Having the information beaten out of him was preferable to what he was feeling at that very moment.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Ted Disapparated back to the Ministry after visiting Mundungus Fletcher at Finnigan's. He did not like doing what he just did. He was more recognizable than anyone else on the force and any hint of someone being a snitch was as good as a death sentence. That was why he sent Ted in the first place.

But he was desperate and a bit peeved that Ted got shafted. While Dung Fletcher was a retired thief and recovered drunk, he lived vicariously through the lives of the lowlifes he served at Finnigan's. He knew stuff and always would. Harry needed him for this one and he came through.

"You believe the asshole?" the younger man asked

"He's telling us what he believes to be the truth."

"I've never heard of Bole and Montague," the younger Auror was skeptical.

The names weren’t brought up during Auror discussions. Bole and Montague were young, average skilled independents, not typical suspects for a job the size they were dealing with.

"Whoever planned this knew how we would start looking and it was quite ingenious to hire thieves we wouldn't even think about," Harry told Ted what he thought.

"The git was obviously holding back," Ted commented, miffed and out for more blood after he spent the day chasing the ghosts Dung sent him after, "I can come back at closing time and ask the question again. I promise to ask nicely."

Harry looked at his godson. It was past midnight and he was still high on adrenaline. He remembered the days when each and every case was like that for him.

"Maybe if it was someone else but not Dung," Harry had a point to make, "He knows what the questions are. He'll sleep on it and then he'll come forward if he thinks he can help."

Harry knew that didn't make sense but such things were always difficult to explain.

"I don't get it. He has information vital to the case."

"Probably but he's spooked. Remember informants are not suspects or witnesses. We need their help. If you get a reputation of burning your bridges with them you will have a harder time getting your job done," he explained, "Listen. It's late. We have debriefing in the morning. Go home to your wife."

Ted hesitated. Harry was familiar with what he was going through; long hours at work, pregnant wife waiting at home. He realized then that he needed to set his godson straight. Just not right now.

"I'll pass on the names to the on-duty and then I'll go home."

When they got to the second level offices they split paths and he headed for his office. Although she was probably still up waiting for Ted, it was too late to call Tory. He'd talk to her in the morning.

He went straight to his desk and sifted through the mess of parchments and documents on it. In a couple more minutes Harry stacked the last of the case files but was not quite ready to call it a day. He rubbed his tired eyes, got on his feet to stretch and gazed out the panorama of London lights outside his window. A nagging feeling of unease about the case plagued him.

While the conversation with Dung gave insight into the robbery and possibly Borgin's death, for him things were more befuddling. Before meeting with Dung his gut told him that Burkes' murder was connected to Borgin's death and the robberies. Dung was telling him they weren't and that didn’t feel right.

His confrontation with the Minister and his right hand man was spot on. Maximus admitted to being the git behind releasing Burkes earlier that day but seemed genuinely appalled by news of his death. Apparently, Caractacus Jr. was a classmate and close friend of the Head Unspeakable's from their days at Durmstrang, and Max (the name he preferred to be addressed as) thought it improper to hold an upstanding citizen who wasn't a flight risk against his will when he could be interviewed in the privacy of his home.

It was a good thing that the Minister's Office was designed to be Impertubed. The shouting match that occurred after between the Head Auror and Head Unspeakable was forgettable for the petty argument brought no new information to him. The Head Unspeakable was an untrustworthy, ambitious, nosy, control freak who dipped his hand into other people's businesses and meddled every chance he got. Harry discretely assigned a few senior Aurors to keep an eye on the Head Unspeakable.

I am not the Keeper.

The Keeper of what? A magical artifact perhaps?

I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper.

Maybe a secret; a Fidelus.

Burkes' Ministry friend claimed that he did not know either.

He glanced at the file he just reviewed that was on the very top of the centre pile on his desk. Looking for a different angle, he pulled the closed case out of archive and read it to refresh his memory. Big bold letters were stamped across it.

Morpheus Gaunt

CLASSIFIED

Harry spent a good half hour going over the file and the case that would haunt him for the rest of his life. Unfortunately, his memory of how Caractacus Sr. died during that operation was not as vivid as he would have liked and in the end he was disappointed to find the documentation lacking.

Admittedly, he was unconvinced that Junior would kill Borgin for the lame reasons Dung said he had. Senior died more than fifteen years ago, a ‘civilian casualty’ of a Ministry action. Maybe Junior got wind that Borgin had something to do with it, perhaps through the very same Ministry friend who set him free. Maybe it was about revenge.

Then he got murdered for a different reason? Harry disliked coincidences. Typically Harry preferred these things wrapped up neat and tidy.

That brought him into thinking about Hermione again. Hermione worked that case with him. She would remember because she never forgot a thing and he made a note to ask her about it when she called.

Worried, he told Ron of the bizarre phone call earlier that day and her ex-husband promptly sent her a message through his Protean charmed time teller. Her immediately reply was the same thing, that she would call him back.

It would be almost seven in the morning where she was. She should have returned the call by now. He was about to contact Ron again when his pager buzzed. It was the night watchman.

"Rocco, what's going on?" Harry greeted over the phone.

"You are still in your office. We've got a situation here," the elderly wizard's voice came through the receiver, "We found an intruder past the third tier wards."

Third tier meant the lifts and into one of the non-public access areas. At this time of the night when the Ministry was closed, the security protocol called for Aurors to assess threat level. The fact that Rocco could make the phone call told him it wasn't much of one.

"Get the on-duty to deal with it."

"Um...I think you'd want to personally deal with this one."

Rocco hung up. Harry had a lot of respect for the wizard and knew he wouldn't bother him if it wasn't important. In a minute Harry found himself in the twelfth level barracks just outside the doors to a staff lounge where the trespasser was being kept.

"The kid says he was testing Ministry security as part of a Hogwarts assignment," Rocco said in a hushed voice, "Harry, it's your son."

Harry looked into the small window on the door and saw a scrawny teenager with dark hair pacing anxiously. Al would never do something like this. James, maybe, but Al?

"I'll leave you to sort this out," the wizard said to him, "He tried to hex me. I would have fried him had I not recognized him."

Harry thanked Rocco and went through the door, closing it behind him as the night watch man left. Al could have been seriously hurt and as frustrated as he was he wanted to hear Al's version of the story.

"You're supposed to be in school. This better be go…"

He stopped short of the table that separated them, recognizing instantly that something was amiss. The boy had his wand drawn out and was unsteadily pointing it at him. This wasn't Al. He was about an inch shorter, his hair a bit longer and his eyes a slightly deeper shade of green.

Hard shadows were etched on the child's face and for someone his age had a rare edginess that was carved out of experience, as if he had to grow up fast over a short period of time. It was like looking into a mirror twenty five years ago.

"My Mum needs your help!" the boy cried out, his eyes puffy and red, spent from crying, "You have to come!"

"Who are you?"

"There is no time! She says to trust only you!"

It was just what he needed at the end of today; some demented fan using a kid to meet him.

“Why do you look like my son? Who put you up to this?"

Frustrated, the stranger hesitated and then said to him, "I look like your son because I am your son!"

In one swoop of his wand, an orange hue fell over the boy and his appearance transformed right before Harry's eyes.

Hugo...

"Are you going to help my Mum or not?!"

Harry's jaw dropped and stayed there as a million tumultuous thoughts surged into his brain, paralyzing him.

Hugo was his son? Hermione's son was his son?

Are you just going to stand there and gape at him? Say something, preferably something that would make sense.

At the time of her pregnancy he considered it, maybe even hoped it, but the math didn't jive. Well, she obviously...

"She lied about when she got pregnant and she lied when she was due to deliver. It's all in the letter."

Hugo handed him a piece of parchment. Thankful for having something else to do, Harry almost ripped the thing in half as he opened and read it, acutely aware of the hard thumping against his chest that was intensified by the weight of Hugo's watchful eye on him.

He read fast, her neat writing on the paper contrasting with the rigmarole of emotions in his chest and brain. Her words gave him the facts that he craved for but left out why she did it. She ended with an apology that she had done what she had and that she wasn't around to tell him herself.

His face flushed as another set of emotions surfaced. He felt cheated, humiliated and angry. Folding the parchment back, he slipped it into his chest pocket and looked up. Harry met their son's cold stare, one thought in his mind.

Hermione, what have you done?

Hugo, business-like, gave him more letters.

"There's one for Aunt Ginny and one for my Dad. She wanted you to decide whether to tell them or not."

"She wanted me to ask you."

Leave it to Hermione to find a suitable icebreaker between him and the son he didn't know he had. What was she thinking? That she could hide this forever?

"I don't care one way or the other," Hugo said plainly, "She didn't want me to show you the letter. We can go with that. After we help her you can go back to the perfect life she wants you to have."

The sarcasm and resentment in his tone was obvious. Perfect life?

"She should have told me. She shouldn't have kept you a secret."

"I was just born into this. Take it up with her," his son snapped, leaving him with no doubt how Hugo felt all about this.

"Why didn't she send you to your Dad?"

"She said it wasn't his fight. She doesn't want him involved and made me promise not to tell him. I don't think she wants you to get involved either but you have to help her," Hugo answered rapidly, then stressed again, "We really don't have time for all this talk. She's in trouble."

"What trouble?"

"Something she didn't expect. She wouldn't have sent me to you if she had things under control. She came home wounded more than an hour ago and Portkeyed me to your house. The wards must have confused the Portkey and I just got there but no one was around so…"

"She's wounded?"

"Gunshot, her shoulder I think. There was so much blood," Harry imagined how that looked like and finally felt the boy's urgency become his own. "She said they were after her. She didn't want them to find out about me. We're wasting time. I've been trying to get to you forever. We should go back now!"

There were questions he wanted to ask but this wasn't the time. He pushed them aside.

"Hold on a minute."

Harry tried Hermione's number and got a not-in-service message. He saw the impatience in his son, reminding him of how he was a long time ago, how it was with Sirius.

"Do you have other means to get in touch with her?"

"I've tried her phone too and I've been trying the mirror but she's not answering," Hugo showed him the small reflector on the face of his wristwatch. It was dark, "She shuts it off sometimes when she's on assignment for the Ministry."

Harry pressed a button on his phone.

Ted answered, "Chief?"

"I'm down in the 12th level staff lounge. I need you here right now."

He called Ginny after. It was her voice mail.

"Hey Gin. Hugo just got here. Something came up and I have to leave. I'll have Ted drop him off. I'll talk to you later."

As expected, Hugo was already protesting even before he hung up.

"No, you don't understand! Call Aunt Ginny back! I'm coming with you!"

"No, you don't understand. You Mum sent you to me because she sensed danger. You said she's in danger. What kind of an idiot do you think I am to take you back there?"

"You don't have a choice! The house is unplottable and protected by a Fidelus! You won't be able to get in! You need me to get there!"

He guessed that Hugo Portkeyed from within the premises and that breach was all he would need. Harry summoned the old sneaker that was hanging off Hugo's backpack. He was drawing the line on this one.

"No, I don't."

Hugo's eyes turned murderous, "I can fight!"

It was deja vu. Maybe karma was a better word.

"Of course you can."

"Don't patronize me! I really can! She taught me herself! I can prove it!"

The kid aimed his wand and fired off a couple of mean hexes a lesser skilled Auror would have had trouble parrying off. For a thirteen year old he was pretty good but now was not the time to compliment him and encourage him about that. Harry quickly approached and physically restrained him, deciding that hexing him would seriously negatively impact any possibility of...bonding. Right.

"Will you stop!? I have no doubt that you can fight and knowing your mother she probably taught you spells she shouldn't have! But let me clear the scene, find your mother then we'll come back and talk about this! Because if your mother didn't want you to stay there, I'm sure as hell not taking you back!"

Harry was out of breath. He had been Hugo's father less than half an hour and he had made his first parental decision about the boy who did not recognize his authority. Hugo glared at him, tears of anger streaming down his cheeks.

"You may be my father but you can't tell me what to do!"

"I just did. Start getting used to it."

"I should have just gone back on my own! I shouldn't have given you the letter!"

Harry let that one slide as someone entered the room.

"What's up Chief?" Ted Lupin asked as he strolled in. His godson noticed Hugo and greeted, "Hey Hughie! Is that you?"

Hugo was still pissed and did not acknowledge the greeting.

"Your Aunt Hermione is in a bind. Drop Hugo off with your Aunt Ginny. Stay there and don't let him out of your sight until I get back."

The furrow on Ted's forehead deepened as he nodded. He would do as he was told and ask questions later. Harry's phone rang and he quickly picked up thinking it was Ginny. But it wasn't. It was the Minister.

"Leo, I can't talk right now. Something's come up."

The Minister carried on in a grave tone, "I have Ron Weasley in my office. He said you should know."

The bottom of his gut fell off at the mention of Ron's name.

"Is this about Hermione Granger?"

"Yes. I just found out and it seems like a lot of others have. It's all over Wizard News."

What? He activated a switch and a three dimensional image of the news projected from above. He read the headlines even before the sound came on.

Hermione Granger is Dead.

The newscaster went on to elaborate.

"Hermione Jean Granger, former Undersecretary for Detection and Defense against the Dark Arts and one time adviser to the British Minister of Magic, was found dead in a small farming town close to where she had been setting up the first Asian Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical. Details regarding the cause of her death have not been released although there are unconfirmed reports that it was an assassination. There is no comment from the Ministry at this time. We will be updating you as information becomes available."

The rest of it faded in the background. Harry didn't notice that he had hung up on the Minister and that he was leaning on the table for support as everything spun around him. He could not believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. The phone call, the strange request, the meeting she was to attend, Hugo's story about her coming home wounded and now this. It was all a mistake. She was too careful and too skillful. It had to be a mistake.

There was sobbing in the background and he remembered. Hugo was in the room. Hugo saw and heard it all, his mother dead where he left her.

"No... I should have stayed…" the boy was weeping, shaking and in anguish, "It's not true…she's alive…she's still there…she needs help… "

Harry was about to reach for him when Hugo summoned the sneaker that lay idle on the desk.

"Portus reversus!"

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know I’m pushing limits but I have in all the stories I’ve written. I totally understand if some stop reading. All I can promise is that the story will be Portkey compliant.

5. Jean Peverell

A/N. Many thanks to those who have reviewed. I enjoy reading them and look to them for plot holes and ideas.

For the record, I prefer Jane but to keep it canon I’m using Jean.

A few have mentioned Ginny - I finally have her in here but I couldn’t write her the way I thought I would.

Heavy angst warning.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 5 - Jean Peverell

Ginny Potter woke up and instinctively reached across the other half of the bed. Her hands fell on the familiar cold unruffled pillow next to her. One would think that after seventeen years of experience as an Auror's wife she would be used to this. She really shouldn't feel so bad anymore.

She pulled the covers up to make herself warmer, causing a rustle somewhere nearby. That would be her notes falling onto the floor. For now, she decided to ignore them, still tired from their recent trip to the Bahamas and too tired from listening to hogwash at the Wizengamot courtrooms all day. She hoped the coziness she was felt at the moment would lull her back to sleep.

No such luck. After tossing and turning for a few minutes she was wide awake. She flipped the covers off her, freed up her long red locks from beneath her night gown and began magically gathering the parchments strewn on the floor. As weekly columnist for the Daily Prophet she had not yet decided if the next editorial would be about the rapidly declining relevance of the Wizengamot decisions and the need for an injection of progressive thinkers into the high court of Wizarding Law in Britain.

Writing about it would certainly stir things up a bit. M.A.Prewett, her pseudonym, started penning thought-provoking, bordering on incendiary, political insights by fluke. After Lily left for Hogwarts two years ago she needed something to fill the quasi-empty nest feeling she had, something more challenging than attending charities and galas, and writing about sports and Quidditch. As Mrs. Potter, she certainly dealt with politics almost every day, particularly because Harry refused to pay attention to anything remotely associated with it. She approached her editor-in-chief about being a guest columnist and gave him no choice but to say yes.

It eventually evolved into a regularly weekly and certainly kept her busier than she imagined it would. Today she spent hours researching at the Wizengamot gallery, listening to fuddy-duddies smite down any and all reasonable case that involved non-wizards. Nobody was saying it out loud but it was clear what was happening. The gains made in non-wizard relations, a focus of past administrations, were becoming undone and events were unraveling into one potentially volatile situation.

The first summarily dismissed was the suggestion to set up on British soil an Integrated School for the Magical and Non-Magical. Grawp the Giant, Winky the Free Elf and the Squib Brian Figg (a prominent Muggle barrister) made a valiant effort to point out that the idea had been embraced overseas and disallowing it was an infringement of equal rights to education. It was turned down for the third time in as many years citing that it was in violation of the Statute of Secrecy. The voting was too quick and too decisive. She knew for a fact that some Wizengamot members were even lobbying internationally to close the existing one in North America and to prevent the Asian branch from opening its doors, a reflection of the current state of politics in Britain that incensed much of the public nowadays.

It was sometime that morning during a court recess following Jurnuk’s violent reaction to the dissolution of the Brotherhood of Goblin’s legal status that she got an unexpected phone call from Hermione. Ginny thought Grawp had told Hermione she was in attendance and was calling about the Wizengamot decision on the Brit IMAN. Why she would even think that now seemed ridiculous but maybe it was because the last few times they talked their conversations had been about work and politics.

Hermione was calling about Hugo. She was asking if he could stay with them for a few days.

Ginny's anxiety level went up a significant notch and matched how Hermione was feeling. Hermione must have been desperate. It would have taken a lot for her just to make this phone call.

Upfront and honest, she told Ginny there was considerable tension in the air and she did not feel it safe for Hugo to be at school alone or at home with her. She also told Ginny what she was going to tell Harry and Ron. Co-conspiring to hoodwink the two wizards reminded Ginny of old times.

"I know it's a lot to ask," Hermione stated the obvious.

'Then why ask?' she groaned internally but instead replied, "Don't worry about it. I did agree to be his godmother."

"Thank you for doing this," Ginny heard her say, sensing her relief. "I'll pick him up in a week."

"Just be careful."

There was silence. Did she just say that out loud?

"I will. Thanks again."

Ginny hung up. That was weird. What stunned her was that she actually said it. Ginny had come a long ways from wishing Hermione dead to being concerned about her and now, letting her know she was.

The last time they spoke was during Hermione's Mum's funeral a year ago and they barely talked before that. Although it happened many years ago, appearances aside, it was still a sore point. It was hard finding something pleasant to talk about with her husband's ex-mistress even if said infidel used to be her closest friend.

Ginny had every right to be acidic and even vindictive but she was no longer angry. Time, maturity and a lot of counseling took care of that. Forgiveness did not come quickly either but it did after she stepped back and decided what was important. Maybe on some foolish level she actually understood. In the end she felt not hate for Hermione but an odd mix of pity and envy. And yes, when the anger subsided she missed the friendship but doubted very much that they could go back to the way things were.

She moved her notes onto her writing desk and found her phone amongst the clutter. There was a message from Harry from a few minutes ago, probably an apology for missing the St. Mungo Quidditch Match Charity event and the after-match party that followed.

Barely five seconds into the replay she got up, eyes wider and more alert than before. Something had gone wrong. Hugo was with him and he was sending Hermione's boy home with Ted. But they weren't expecting Hugo until midmorning, and Ted and Hugo should have arrived by now. She glanced up the wall and the special clock she inherited from her Mum indicated that Harry was out of the country.

Hurriedly, she called Harry back.

No answer.

Where are you? Answer dammit!

Her mind racing, Ginny gave up and scrolled down the list of contacts on her phone looking for Ted's name when it rang.

It was Ron.

XXXXXXXXXX

Just moments before at the 12th Level Ministry staff lounge, the reactivated Portkey turned blue and warped space. Harry held on to the laces, still stunned by the news about Hermione and miffed at himself for underestimating the kid's magical capabilities. The quick thinking Ted Lupin was able to grab the sneaker too. Within a few seconds, they were taken halfway across the world to the exact same place where the Portkey originated.

As per standard operating procedure, both Aurors had their wands drawn out even before they fully arrived at their destination but, surprisingly, the house was already deserted. Recognizing the absence of immediate danger, he nodded over to Ted who understood to step out and secure their perimeter.

Harry surveyed the eight by ten square foot space, the fast thumping against his chest not easing up one bit. The room was brightly lit, not only from the rays of the rising sun coming through the east facing window but also from the ones that seeped through the many bullet holes that punctured the thin wooden walls and ceilings. The gaps were formed by the snaking pattern of an automatic firearm discharged in a random fashion, as if a couple of gunmen stood by the doorway and strafed the confined space. Chunks of the room were also missing, blown off by magic, and an unmistakable stench of gunpowder intermixed with human blood lingered in the moist muggy air. The room smelled of death.

Hugo had done the same thing he just did but the panic and concern in his son's expression was a more accurate reflection of how Harry felt. The scene before them was troubling knowing that Hermione was there a couple of hours ago and even more so that it only told half of what the real story was. There was no body but Hugo was standing near the head of the bed beside a thick dark red pool that was slowly expanding on the floor, blood soaked mattress dripping into it. Bordering and overlapping the stain, a tracing of a human form was outlined with a white magical marker. It would be that of the victim's as found lying on his or her left side.

"She's not dead," Hugo insisted, tears welling up in his eyes again. Harry could tell he was trying to be 'brave' and not cry, "We have to find her."

"We will."

That being a given Harry reassured him but did not mention the obvious implication of the human outline. He hoped that wasn't hers and that the rouge liquid on the scene wasn't hers either. In his estimation, it was too much blood for one person to lose and still survive.

But something about the scene did not feel right. For a crime that happened less than two hours ago it was curious how quickly the property was processed and left alone without protection, particularly considering that a somewhat famous and influential figure was involved. The room was devoid of personal items and room furnishings to suggest who if anyone lived there. What exactly did the Minister know and how did he find out? How did the news leak out so fast and why was it so sure that it was Hermione who died?

While he had been an Auror long enough to deduce what had likely happened in the room, there was a need to be organized and not jump to conclusions. As he already said to himself, Hermione was too smart and too cautious a witch to be blindsided by something like this. But if she wasn't dead, then where was she?

As question begat question he fumbled through his pockets only to realize that he dropped his phone in the lounge as he was rushing to get to Hugo earlier. It was then when Teddy rejoined them.

"We're secure. I've set up temporary wards."

"Good. I need your phone."

He found Ron's number and connected. He told Ron where he was.

Ron's voice cracked, "Tell me it's not true."

"I don't know, Ron," Harry looked around as if grasping for an acceptable answer, "The place is smashed but she's not here. Nobody's here."

"I called the IMAN," Ron replied in a panic, referring to Hugo's school, "The Headmaster said Hugo was with Hermione..."

"Hugo is with me."

"Is he okay?"

"He isn't hurt," at least not physically, Harry added in his mind catching Hugo's eye as the latter anxiously listened in, probably wondering if he was going to tell Ron their little secret, "He wasn't here when it happened."

"Thank goodness," he heard Ron sigh with relief, "He knows?"

"He saw the news."

"How's he taking it?"

"He's taking it as badly as you can imagine."

Harry replied honestly but didn't want to add to Ron's distress and withheld much of what Hugo told him about Hermione's state when the boy saw her last. That and how Hugo ended up with him were not conversations for right now.

Ron had asked to speak with Hugo but the boy shook his head and walked away. He wasn’t ready. Ted went off to follow him as Harry made some forgettable excuse, reassured Ron that he'd look after Hugo and asked him about the Minister.

He told Harry what the Minister told him. That the Malay Ambassador's office received word from the South Asian Magical Police that a Brit civilian being found dead in her house and there was overwhelming evidence of foul play. The house was registered under Hermione's name and local forensics confirmed that the woman found lifeless on the scene was her. The SAMP was following protocol, asking for a liaison officer to help with family and media. Upon receipt of the request, the Ambassador contacted the Minister's office for direction and, as Ron was brought in to be informed, the news leaked out to the press.

Red flags kept popping up as Ron told him the story. Granting that Hermione was a controversial figure, he found it odd that the Minister would allow himself to be bothered about news from across the world at such an unholy hour. Leo found out too quickly, the crime scene was cleared too expediently and the story got to the news too swiftly. Maybe Hugo was telling the truth, that she had gone back to work for the Ministry. But he did not have enough facts and his thoughts kept spinning in place. He couldn't think like an Auror at the moment, especially not when he still didn't know what happened to her.

"Where was the body taken?" he asked, hanging on to the possibility that, despite what the Minister said, the corpse found was not her.

"The Morgue at the SAMP HQ. They asked me to come and identify her," Ron relayed, "I don't think I..."

Ron started bawling again and Harry felt for him. They had accompanied families to ID dead loved ones countless times and they knew what it was like. It was always painful to watch and irrefutably more painful to be on the other side of the fence. Hermione's parents were gone and Rosie and Hugo weren't of age. The task fell upon Ron by default.

"I'm here. I'll do it," Harry offered, not thinking twice.

Ron thanked him and said that he'd send word to the SAMP that he was on his way. They would go there next to do that and perhaps get some answers.

"He'd want to see the body, too," Ron said of Hugo, "I want you to look first and if it is her, I want you to think what Hermione would want for him, okay?"

Harry felt guilt eat him up as he mumbled something affirmative. That never crossed his mind and the realization that it should have left him annoyed at himself. It still had not sunk in that Hugo was his flesh and blood. Switching from caring uncle to estranged father was slow in coming, particularly now that Hermione was 'missing' and that Hugo had chosen to remain as his unnatural self. It was as if he was waiting for Hermione to tell him and for them to talk about Hugo for it to be real.

Ron, on the other hand, thought about Hugo first and Harry felt an inadequacy he had never felt ever in his life. He had always been a good parent to James, Al and Lily, but with them he had the advantage of being so from the very beginning. He had never been that for Hugo and he had no idea how to begin being one to a thirteen year old under such strained circumstances.

Judging from Hugo's reaction, his son preferred not to have anything to do with him. What was the term he used? The 'perfect life'." Harry didn't know how much Hermione told Hugo about what happened but could not imagine her deliberately badmouthing him to their son. This animosity was all Hugo.

And Harry understood his point of view. Yes, Hermione kept the truth hidden from him but that was irrelevant. Harry was guilty by ignorance, by absence and by the fact that of the three of them he was the only one who up until today did not have to live with the truth. To a thirteen year old those were unforgivable and even Harry agreed. 'I didn't know' was a lame excuse that would not make up for what Hugo had gone through, was going through and was about to go through.

Hugo saw him as the bad guy, the one to blame for all the wrong things in his life and, to be honest, Harry wasn't totally guiltless for Hermione's decision to keep the truth hidden. As much as he felt betrayed he knew exactly why she did it. He suspected that Hugo knew the reasons too and resented him for being the one Hermione chose to protect.

He heard Ron manage a thank you. Ron was devastated and his lack of hope was contagious but Harry told himself that he had to see proof. He had to see the body.

"It might not be her," Harry reminded him.

"Then where is she and why isn't she letting us know that she's alive?"

"There could be many reasons."

Yes and all of them not pleasant. They both knew she would have turned up already if she physically could, even if just to send word that she was okay, to give them, especially Hugo and Rose, peace of mind.

"You're right," Ron finally acceded. "It may not be her. But if it is her, just look out for Hughie, okay?"

"I will. I'll call you back as soon as I have something."

He hung up. For a moment he thought about contacting Leo but decided against it. That was something he had to do face to face, not only to ensure a private conversation but also to better assess if the Minister was being completely truthful or not. Harry found Ted and took him aside, handing the phone back to the visibly affected Auror.

"Are you okay?" Harry asked him once they were out of Hugo's earshot.

"I think so," the young man replied, "You?"

"Not really," Harry thought it would be obvious if he lied anyway.

"Do you think she's dead?"

"I hope not," he answered sincerely.

There was an unspoken gloom between them as they looked at the crime scene again. Having seen so much death Harry found himself wishing he had the unadulterated optimism that Hugo had.

He told Ted where they were going next. Ted quickly identified a safe Portkey drop off location and in no time they were at the SAMP office. They found the officer-in-charge who escorted Harry into the morgue as Hugo anxiously waited with Ted outside. Harry was worried. The boy had been very quiet for a long time, too quiet.

"Harry," a soft spoken voice greeted him somberly as he got through the swinging double doors.

"What are you doing here?" he responded, perplexed at the sight of the Brit Chief Forensics Officer this far from her London lab.

"I told Leo I had to do this."

Jessie was a close friend of Hermione's, at least up until Hermione left London four years ago. It was plain that she had been crying, too.

"Ron said you're to ID the body."

Jessie waited for his answer. He took his place across from her on the opposite side of the table on which an unmoving figure lay covered under a thin white sheet. She looked at him intently, as if judging if he was the right person to be doing this. He and Jessie got along but occasionally, like right now, he would get this feeling that she disapproved of him.

Although he would never announce it, Harry felt he was the most qualified, even more so than Ron. He had known Hermione for thirty years and she had always believed him to be the one person who truly did. He would know if this was her.

Harry steeled himself and nodded to the CFO. Jessie hesitated.

"You saw the crime scene, Harry. There's not much left to..."

He sensed where she was going with this. She already saw the body.

"Just let me see her."

Harry cut Jessie short, his gaze now poised over the sheet. He wanted this over with.

"I repeated the tests, reconfirmed identity against our Ministry database dental records and through accelerated DNA. We've pulled every Muggle file we could find to cross match..."

"Just show me!" Harry snapped at her roughly, the woman's thoroughness was killing him.

Without another word, the CFO slowly unveiled the corpse's face. Harry looked and had to will himself not to turn away. Jessie was right. There wasn't much left to ID. From the intact areas of the pale visage and partially exposed upper torso all he could tell was that she was Caucasian. A familiar mass of brown hair with dried and drying blood splayed on the cold white tile. Her eyelids were shut but he could only imagine seeing brown eyes under the lids.

His throat tightened up as he took the covering off entirely. He had to see the rest and as he did he blinked off the tears that had pooled in his eyes. The gory sight before him took his breath away, the mere possibility of the lifeless woman being Hermione overwhelmed him. It can't be her. It just couldn't. It had to be someone else.

He stepped back and gathered himself, wiping the wetness off his face with a sleeve. The Auror in him rationalized that if this were about someone he didn't know he wouldn't be thinking twice. A bullet riddled Caucasian dead woman found in this part of the world was rare and that coupled with the fact that the vic was in Hermione's house after Hugo saw her there with a gunshot wound would draw the logical conclusion. The evidence proved that.

But as he stood there gazing at the pallid empty human shell before him, he did not feel that familiar connection. He did not have the compulsion to touch her, the craving to see her smile or the urge to take her in his arms and embrace her. In spite of the proof, he didn't feel this was her. It was against logic and undermined all objectivity.

Maybe it wasn't her or maybe he was in classic denial.

There was no knowing. Seconds turned into minutes and frustration took over as he remembered how much the family was depending on him to say ‘yes’ or ‘no’, not this uncertainty muddled by his personal feelings. When he volunteered to ID her he was sure he'd know right away. Yet, here he was and he couldn't tell. He couldn't tell and he felt that he failed, not only her family, but Hermione on some level. And he had failed her so many times already.

His immediate concern went to Rose and Hugo. It was one thing if he himself remained conflicted but it would cost way much more if his failure to accept that she was dead gave them hope when all evidence pointed that there was nothing to hope for.

He gently covered up her body again.

"I can't tell," he admitted, gritting his teeth and willing himself not to weep as he looked at Jessie, "I can't..."

"I thought as much. That's why I ran the tests again," Jessie did tell him so.

"Any personal items?"

Jessie had a crestfallen look. She had wished he didn’t ask.

"Nothing in the room but she had this around her neck."

She took out a transparent bag and a familiar object winked back at him. He took it out. It was the golden locket, the one he gave her years ago. He felt his chest tighten again. She still wore it. He didn't even know. After all this time she still wore it.

"Is it hers?" Jessie asked only because she had to for the record.

Harry turned it over, wiped the fresh red stain off with his thumb and read the inscription it concealed. He lost himself staring at the two words for so long they faded into a blur.

"Is it hers?” Jessie repeated the question.

He must have not been breathing for a while because he had to take a deep one.

"Yes," he replied, barely a whisper. "May I?"

Jessie nodded and Harry put it in his pocket. He would have taken it anyway even if she disagreed.

Harry said, "I don't see any point of having someone else come to look. Do you?"

"No," she answered then she hesitated before continuing, "The evidence says it's her. Harry, I have to call it, unless you tell me it's not."

"I have no proof that it isn't her. Do what you have to do."

She nodded. His answer would be equivalent to him saying the dead woman was Hermione. He took another uneven breath in. God, he needed a break, some respite, something familiar that he could deal with.

"Did you…um…process the scene?"

Jessie seemed relieved too that they were retreating behind the job they had to do.

"No. But I've gone over what was done and I'm reprocessing once my team gets here."

"Who found her?"

Jessie looked over his shoulder to a figure behind him. Harry had forgotten but the man who escorted him in had been standing in the shadows all this time. Harry vaguely remembered that his first name was Bomber. The wizard was a short pudgy fellow with a wide girth, receding hairline and a permanent smiley face for an expression that was so inappropriate at that particular moment.

"A neighbor from the valley down the foot path. Lisa Husta, Muggle,” the officer replied, “She goes down that trail everyday on her way to the market and noticed the house for the first time today. She called the local Muggle police and we flagged it in time. The witness checks out."

Like most locals he spoke pretty good English. The city was a school town. Several Muggle universities and colleges made it their home and was the reason why Hermione chose the area to host the Asian IMAN.

"What about suspects?"

"The Malvados claimed responsibility for the hit. They're really the only ones with the balls to assassinate with such viciousness."

Harry had heard of the Malvados, the faction of dark magic practitioners and their non magical supporters which was on the international law enforcement watch list. Their goal was to destabilize governments and create anarchy akin to the medieval dark ages. They were considered the biggest threat to worldwide peace this half of the world.

"Why her?" he asked, wondering if it was the obvious.

"Beats me. She must have really pissed them off. Though I can't imagine how she could have done that considering she's only a teacher," the man shrugged, obviously not well informed about who Hermione was, "The case becomes even more interesting. While we were processing the scene someone snuck into HQ and left a message."

Bomber showed him a photo of the squad room wall. Written on it in human ink was a statement.

Goodbye Jean Peverell.

Harry steadied himself and tried not to look astonished.

Jean Peverell.

"We have one hit on the name from a place called Godric's Hollow and the records show she's been dead for more than fifteen years."

Seventeen to be exact, unless Hermione decided to resurrect an old alias he was almost sure she never would. Jean Peverell was one of the ‘casualties’ in the Morpheus Gaunt case. Harry did not believe in coincidences.

There were jurisdictions to be crossed, protocols to be violated and toes to be stepped on to get to the bottom of this. He wanted to see what else the SAMP had and where Leo fit in all of this. But first, he had to take care of Hugo.

Harry turned back to Jessie and asked her, "Anything else you want me to tell the family?"

"I'll take her back to London, look for curse signatures, scan her internal organs and get a few samples," Jessie shared what the plan was, "I'll wait the mandated twenty hours before I sign off."

He nodded, thanked her and walked through the swinging doors. He almost bumped into a charging Hugo on his way out. Harry could not bear to look at the eager anticipation he knew he would find and immediately wipe off without even saying a word.

"We're going back to London," Harry said.

"I want to see!"

Ron had called it right. Hermione would not want this.

"No," Harry said firmly.

He intended to take Hugo as far away from here as possible.

"I don't care what you say! I want to see her! I need to know it's her!"

The boy was not going to be denied. Hugo shoved him aside and tried to get through the doors. Harry grabbed him brusquely by the shoulders and got in his face.

"There's nothing to see! There's no one there but an empty body of a woman who resembles your mother. You don't want that to be your last memory of her!"

As his grip slackened, Hugo pushed his arms out of the way and stormed off crying. It hurt realizing that at the moment backing off was all he could do for his son. His son…their son…

He borrowed Ted's phone again. Ron. Finding an alcove to make the private call, he stared blankly at the keypad for a long time thinking of how best to break the news to his best friend. Then it hit him. There was no best way.

The numbers became fuzzy as he thought of what to say. If he let himself he would lose it and not be able to tell Ron. Jaw clenched and breath controlled, he choked on the ringing phone and put the receiver against this ear. Ron answered.

"There wasn't much left..."

"Merlin..."

He closed his eyes and let it go.

"Forensics confirmed and…and will make the call in twenty-four..."

For a long time there was only sobbing on the other end, then he heard a click. It was just as well that Ron hung up. He didn't know what else to say.

Harry flipped the phone shut, thought of Hermione and cried some more.

XXXXXXXXXXX

A/N. As most of you have probably guessed by now, I will be going back in time for this one and then come back to the present. I originally thought the Ginny here would be more Sue-ish but just couldn’t imagine her knowing about the affair and still being friends with Hermione - although time seems to have taken the edge off a bit.

6. The Master of Death

A/N. Thanks for all the feedback. There are two parts to this chapter. The first is about the enemy. The second is one with Harry, Hugo, Ron and Ginny. The latter was kind of hard to write hence the slow update. I do hope that you enjoy this one.

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Chapter 6 - The Master of Death

Somewhere high up in the thick brush of Mount Ingkanto, too remote and unreachable by ordinary Muggles, a festive occasion was being attended by a collection of the vilest magical beings this part of the world. The outbursts of boisterous laughter came in waves over the steady blare of Muggle inspired music, the racket interrupting the usual serenity of the small village this time of the day. The party began at dawn with the death of the witch considered to be one of if not the greatest hindrance to their creation of a world of organized anarchy.

Completely protected from the elements by lush forest cover, it always seemed nighttime in the headquarters of the Malvados. Lamp posts that burned blue eternal flames were strategically dispersed through out the camp. The ground was always damp, the air cool and its lack of exposure to the sun provided the perfect habitat for a portion of the beings living there and in attendance.

In the midst of the community, surrounded by dwellings of various shapes and forms, was a clearing with a raised wooden centre stage carved out from wide trunks of dead trees. The home grown band was playing on it, providing entertainment to supplement free flowing wine and an abundant supply of beings for fleshly pleasure. All in all there were about two hundred in attendance as many members based elsewhere in the world had come to join the fun.

Pop! Pop!

Two robed figures suddenly appeared on the platform. The music came to a screeching halt and an immediate silence befell the revelers. The taller Apparitionist in black took his hood off exposing his harsh ungainly lower primate-like features, anger obvious through the thin slits of his red tinged eyes. He began surveying the mob, looking for someone. Halfway through the crowd he stopped, gaze transfixed at a spot. The sea of beings parted towards it and at its end stood an armed half-giant who quickly launched an attack.

“Avada Kedavra!”

The green burst of light found its target on centre stage but it merely bounced off. The attempt was a bust from the onset. In a split second the half-giant's wand was broken and he was being magically dragged through the jagged stony ground up the platform where he would be made an example of and would eventually die.

Unarmed and helpless, the huge wizard looked at Salazar Malvado defiant.

"She lives," he declared, taunting, hoping it would mean a swifter end.

"I killed her myself, delusional fool!"

A curse hit him and it felt as if millions of pins pierced every square inch of his body all at the same time. He could not help but scream and was breathing heavily when it stopped.

"She...she has conquered death...long live Jean Peve...argh!!"

The second one broke him. He slumped on the wooden platform all of him aching and although he tried he could not move.

"Pathetic, just like your half assed attempt to infiltrate our ranks and kill me. The Keeper is dead. The secret is lost forever. Die knowing that all hope is lost," Malvado retorted, grinning widely, gloating his victory. He then turned to the crowd, "This is what we do to traitors!"

Malvado lifted his sinewy arms and pointed the weapon at his prisoner, a hissing sound escaped from his lips and an intense red ray of light sprung from the wand that many feared more than the wizard it recognized as its true master. The sheer force of its magic lifted the half-giant off the dais, all eyes following him as he was spun and reshaped into many unnatural and physically impossible configurations before exploding into many chunks and pieces.

There was absolute silence. Malvado eyed his captive audience and was satisfied with their reaction. He put away the Death Stick.

"Let's party!"

A thunderous roar of approval and relief filled the silence. Music resumed as the savage among them partook of the fresh meat he just served.

The wizard behind him approached and updated him of the situation.

"The traitor's message got through."

Malvado hissed once again in a language only a handful in the world could understand much less speak. The other replied in English, puzzled.

"I thought you wanted to wait until we found it."

"I am the Master of Death. I have nothing to fear. Let him come."

"As you wish."

Malvado scanned the crowd again. A hunger within him had to be quenched.

"Where is she?" he asked the other wizard impatiently.

"I haven't seen her since the attack. She's probably trolling Muggle campsites for fresh blood."

It could be days before she came back. He hated it when he got too attached.

"Get me another vampire whore."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry, Ted and Hugo arrived in London a few minutes later. Ted had to be ordered to go home. He then took Hugo to the Potter House, or the Pitch as family and close friends called it, their downcast mood reflected in the somber truce they wordlessly agreed upon from the time they left the morgue.

Ron and Ginny were in the kitchen, tepid cups of tea in their hands and an untouched plate of apple pie on the mahogany breakfast table. Hugo quickly walked up to Ron and buried his face into his surrogate father's chest, freeing muffled sounds of agony from deep within. Seeing his son sob uncontrollably broke Harry's heart. Ron embraced the teenager snugly and tried to soothe him, murmuring words of comfort. As glad as Harry was that Ron was there for Hugo he wished he could help Hugo more. And he would give anything to be Ron at that very moment; anything save for Hermione being alive and well.

He was so wrapped up in that thought he didn't even notice that Ginny was beside him until she spoke. Her puffed out eyes matched the sadness he saw within her. Bad history and all, they were good friends once and Harry sensed there was more to Ginny's emotions than just grief.

"This is terrible…" her words faded off as she lost her voice, her arms coming up around his neck.

She hugged him and he hugged her back. Where he thought and had hoped he would feel some relief there was only more of the same raw gnawing ache that had steadily kept him company since Jessie showed him the body. Despite the pain he hung on anyway, feeling that he deserved every bit of it. If he could at least make someone else feel better…

"I can't believe this is happening. I just spoke with her this morning."

So did I. I should have asked more questions. I should have insisted when she refused. I should have been there…

His throat tightened up he had to swallow back his attempt at a reply.

"Are they certain it's her?" she whispered.

"Jessie...she was there."

Her tears quickly soaked through his robes and he instinctively clutched her tighter. Ginny rarely cried and when she did she did so silently. Not today. She tried but couldn't keep it in. Harry knew she was dying inside.

"I'm so sorry, Harry…"

"I know, Gin. So am I."

It was his fault after all. He was the reason Ginny and Hermione were no longer friends, the reason Hermione left, the reason she died.

Ginny pulled away just as Hugo did and Harry caught the unmistakable look of contempt on his son's face. It was then when he realized there was only one way to fix this. Hermione was wrong. It was unfair to the kid to make him decide. It was hard enough a decision for grown-ups. And it would get ugly before it could get better but he had to tell everyone the truth. First he needed a moment alone with his son to give the kid the courtesy of knowing what he was going to do. Hugo, however, had other plans.

"Dad, can we go now?"

He wanted to leave, was anxious to leave. There was no way Harry would allow that, not after it became clear to him what Hermione's real reason for having Hugo stay with him was. His home by his blood was Hugo's home. Staying here would afford Hugo more magical protection than it would if he stayed at Ron's. Hermione was worried the trouble she was dealing with would seek their son out and find him.

"You should stay," Ginny said to Ron before Harry did, "Rosie will be in St. Mungo's for at least another day and it'll be easier for you to be in London to deal with all this."

"What's happened to Rosie?" Harry and Hugo asked almost at the same time in the same tone and inflection.

"She needed a Healer's draught after she heard what happened. She should be better in the morning," Ron answered but was still undecided about his sister's offer.

Ginny pressed on, "Really, Ron. We have plenty of room here. Send for Anne, Sam and Brian in the morning."

Harry weighed in, hoping Ron would choose to stay, "She's right. It's better for you to be here. It'll be crazy over the next few days."

Out of the corner of his eye Hugo was all set to protest.

"I don't want to stay," Hugo put simply.

"Your Mum sent you to us. She wanted you here," Harry reminded him.

"My Mum wanted a lot of things she didn't get. She was used to not getting what she wanted."

Truce broken. Harry had hoped it would last longer.

"Hugo!" Ron admonished, "Don't be crass."

"It's okay, Ron."

But Hugo was all flushed and not quite done.

"So now you're all concerned about it. I guess it's better late than never, huh?!"

"What's gotten into you?!" Ron, confused and upset, raised his voice.

"Me?! What's gotten into me?! What's gotten into you?! Mum just got murdered! Why aren't you after her killers?!"

"They are, sweetie," Ginny explained, "It may not look like it but they are."

"They're not! They don't even know where to begin! They don't know what it's about!"

Harry challenged, "Why don't you tell us? Tell us what this is about. Tell us who we should go after."

Hugo backtracked, "I don't know! How would I know?"

"Quit lying," Harry knew he was.

"Harry!" Ginny was appalled by his accusation.

"I'm just a kid. Do you really think my Mum would tell me stuff like this?"

Maybe not tell but he remembered how much stuff they knew as teenagers they shouldn't have. Nobody ever told them but they found out anyway.

"He's right, Harry. Hermione wouldn't," Ron took Hugo's side, "And if he knew anything that would help us catch her murderers he'd tell us right away, right?"

Hugo looked at Ron and without batting an eyelash firmly said "Of course. I would have already."

That was convincingly truthful enough. With those last words Harry tweaked on something Hugo did tell him already; the Ministry and his Mum being on assignment. He was about to ask more questions when a foreign thought nudged his out of the way.

Don't ask.

He shunned it and looked at Ron.

"I'll talk with Anne," Ron said to Ginny.

It wasn't him. Then it came again.

Don't ask about the Ministry.

Harry blocked it off once more and this time found Hugo looking at him intensely. There was a break in his disrespectful demeanor and an unmistakable invitation to read his thoughts.

"I'm sure she'll say yes," Ginny replied. "You and Anne can stay in the…"

Legilimiens!

It came to him swiftly, an image of Hermione in the dimly lit bedroom, breathless and rain-drenched, a tear visible on her blood soaked shoulder. The light flickered on her worried expression and she was leaning over, so close he could feel her.

The Ministry already chose to stay away. This is not your Dad's fight. Promise me you won't get him involved!

Hugo's hesitation reflected off her hazel eyes.

Promise me!

Harry was mesmerized by the sight of her and the sight of what she went through moments before it happened, he barely heard Hugo do as she asked.

"I'm going to Dad's then?"

"You're going to your father's."

Was it remorse? Regret? It was difficult to tell for sure what she was feeling but he hung on to the tenderness in which she referred to him, letting her words echo in his mind.

…your father’s…

He longed to see the rest but the memory was abruptly ripped away. Hugo broke off the link and cast a surreptitious glance at Ron. Whatever this was about Hermione wanted Ron out of it and Hugo had promised. For now Harry would respect their wishes.

"I'm sorry I was rude, Uncle Harry," Hugo issued a lip service apology, the tone in the address stung Harry as it was meant to; "I guess I'm just tired. Maybe with sleep I'll remember something more useful."

Tired? Harry thought not. Hugo just effortlessly used a suggestive spell on him, not once but twice. It was a borderline Imperius curse that was punishable as a felony in some jurisdictions. Hugo's knowledge of and skill at using it was both amazing and disconcerting.

But the kid had been through a lot; it was hard to fully comprehend the mass of emotions he was feeling inside. Harry wanted to understand, he wanted to know to help ease it somewhat but up until now he had been an unwelcome outsider. Hugo, maybe out of desperation, was thinking of letting him in but needed some space.

"We'll talk in the morning," he said.

Harry actually imagined himself walking closer and maybe, patting Hugo on the shoulder and ruffling his son's already messed up brown hair but the thought of the teenager cringing away from contact was too painful he did not want to risk it.

Hugo needs time.

Her voice filled him, encouraging him and confirming that giving Hugo space was the right thing to do.

"Sweetie, you can use Al's room while you're here," Ginny offered as she and Ron had just sorted out logistics, "I'm sure he won't mind."

Before the boy could disagree his Aunt Ginny shushed him, took his rucksack in one hand, his hand in the other and led him up the stairs. Harry let his gaze follow them up the steps as far as he could see and listened in on their conversation as much as he could hear.

"You are taking some calming draught."

"No thanks. I'll be fine without it, Aunt Ginny."

Harry was somewhat relieved. Hugo sounded civil enough, reserving the animosity especially for him.

"You've had quite a night."

"I'm fine, really."

As stubborn as his mother.

And Ginny would not hear of it. She was right. The kid did need to rest and a calming draught would help. That would also ensure Hugo wouldn't try something impulsive like find a way to break the wards, which Harry suspected he was more than capable of, and sneak out to see his mother. As much as Harry wanted to ask them right away, the questions about Hermione would have to wait. And after asking the questions he'd tell Hugo what he was going to do.

He glanced over to Ron who had been quiet all this time. His friend had been listening in as well. Almost certain it would fall short and sound hollow, Harry did not even attempt to reassure. He made a batch of fresh tea instead and took two cups to the table, offering one to Ron.

They sat quietly for a while, both entranced by the steam escaping from their hot beverages. Harry wondered if Ron was feeling as guilty as he was for not being with her and for not convincing her enough to come back to London. As Hugo so astutely pointed out, they both should be out there looking for clues and hunting down her murderers, not here sipping tea in silence and seeking solace in the company of family. There was no time to be human but he, with guilt, feeling a compelling need for it to function, stole the moment anyway.

"You were right. Hugo wanted to see the body," Harry told him, breaking the ice.

"Yeah, he's still upset about not being able to," Ron slowly twirled his cup in place, speaking to it, and then added, "We actually talked about this."

"About?"

"About what to do if something happened to her," Ron scrounged his face up in a losing effort not to cry again.

He remembered. They did, too.

"Honestly, Harry. Whether it's today or fifty years from now we are all going to die. I don't see why talking about it is such a big deal. "

They were in bed, his arms wrapped around her body, her bare back finding a perfect grove against him as she rubbed her feet and toes lightly against his. They had just made passionate love and it amused him how she always liked to talk after.

"I don't think it's a big deal either," he replied with his eyes already closed, fighting against the somnolence that was taking over his dead tired hormone influenced body, "It's just depressing to talk about it and I’m feeling a bit insecure here."

“Huh?”

That brought a smile to his face.

“My girlfriend thinks about death while we make love. I can only conclude that I must be terrible at it.”

“Shut up,” she responded but she was smiling too.

He gave her flitting kisses on her neck and shoulder.

“Unless you’re telling me I was so darn good it felt like you died and went to heaven.”

“That’s definitely it.”

Hermione laughed. He laid his head back and pulled her closer. His work was done.

For a second he thought she had dozed off, until she spoke again, "Can I ask you an unfair question?"

He snorted teasing, "As if I have a choice."

Hermione chuckled and after another little while asked, "What are you going to do if I die tomorrow?"

It was unfair and he didn't like it but he did have an answer.

"If you die tomorrow I'll walk up to Death and ask him to take me too."

"You wouldn't."

"I would. There would be no point. I can't imagine life without you."

He was serious but she laughed, or maybe it was a chortle. She always did when he said 'silly' things like that, either she thought he was kidding or she didn't believe him. He rolled her on her back and propped himself up over her. She was smiling but when he gazed into her brown eyes they weren’t. They were apologetic, for what he wasn't quite sure of but figured he had all the time in the world to suss that one out.

"I really can't. I mean it.”

Brushing her hand lightly on his face, the smile on hers disappeared as she answered, "I know you do."

Hermione kissed him; he kissed her back. It was deep and complete, satisfying in the sense that it filled need but lacking in that it spurred insatiable mutual want. Living and not being able to do this and to be this for her would not be living at all.

“You don’t believe me,” he accused her in a nonthreatening way as their kiss ended.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, Harry. Dying is part of living. People die all the time and when they do those who are left should move on. So, when it’s my turn, unimaginable as it may seem now, I would want you to move on.”

“If I die tomorrow, what would you do?”

“I would move on.”

She was lying.

“Yeah, right.”

“Okay, but I would at least try.”

That was the one time they talked about it and they never got to finish the conversation. Thinking about her that way made him warm each and every time and he hadn’t allowed himself to in a long while. Some memories, no matter how pleasant, just brought more pain after.

Ron sniffled, bringing him back to reality.

"She was always thinking ahead and I wish I had paid more attention but I never imagined she would go first,” Ron admitted, “Merlin, she's gonna get pissed when she finds out I wasn't really listening."

They chuckled at that thought, their smiles incongruent with the tears on their faces. Ron was being Ron, finding ways to cope with unfamiliar emotions. Soon enough they slid back to the depths of grief and the only other better place they could immerse themselves in.

Ron took them there, "Do you really think Hugo knows more than he's telling?"

Harry shrugged, "I don't know."

"What did you find out from the SAMP?"

"They think the Malvados have something to do with it."

"That's what Leo said."

"How did he figure that?"

"A death threat addressed to Hermione dated a few days ago. It's about that bloody school. The Malvados don't want it on their turf," Ron said angrily. "She shouldn't have baited those bigots needlessly..."

"You don't really mean that. She believed in it."

"It got her killed."

"It might or it might not have but she's been this way since we met her," Harry said to Ron harshly, unable to leave it alone, "She would never let something like that stop her from doing the right thing. And you wouldn't either."

Ron sulked and retreated. He knew it but he just wanted something or someone to blame the whole thing on. He shouldn't have had to look further than the person in front of him.

A debate had been raging within him about what to tell Ron. Hermione wanted to keep Ron out of this and he guessed it was because of his newborn twins. But Ron was not stupid and it was only a matter of time before he figured out there was something wrong about the Minister getting the news of her death so quickly. He would definitely think it once he heard about Jean Peverell.

Harry told him.

"Fuck Harry," Ron swore, "That was a long time ago. That alias was blown and dead. She would have been crazy to use that again."

Unless there was an absolute need to. She was after all working with Warren again.

“And why would she need one?”

Perhaps it wasn’t so obvious. Would he have thought of it had Hugo not mentioned it?

“I don’t know. Maybe she wasn’t using it. Maybe the person who wrote it knew her when she was Jane Peverell. We need to speak with Warren."

Warren knew about Jane Peverell. He worked on that case, too.

"That might be difficult. He doesn't like talking with law enforcement nowadays."

And Harry had hoped Ron would know how and be able to get in touch with him. Harry's ex-partner, who at one point was also Hermione's, was not exactly listed in the phone book or attached to any business or government agency to whom he was accountable to. Warren Gates was accountable only to himself and preferred it that way.

But Harry did not think it would be hard to locate him. Last he heard Warren was peddling his Auror skills to whoever could afford him. At least that was the rumour.

"I'll check what we have on him and contact the Canadians if need be," Harry replied.

"We'll ask Hugo in the morning. He might know how to get a hold of him."

Ginny just joined them and headed straight to the counter.

"It took some time but he's finally asleep," she told them as she made more tea, "That poor boy. I've Owled the Headmistress and asked her to excuse James, Al and Lily from classes for the next few days."

"Thanks for doing that," Ron acknowledged, "Having them here would help Rosie and Hugo a lot."

She sat beside Harry and took his hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. He looked at her, saw her concern and immediately felt sorry.

She's trying to help the only way she knows how. You should let her.

He did. He gave her a slight nod and squeezed her hand back, hoping it would reassure her that he was fine. But as he did he looked away sooner than he wanted to, afraid that Ginny could see through the pretense.

"Do you think Leo knew about the Jean Peverell message?" Ron asked.

Harry felt Ginny's body stiffen. She took her hand from his and it was unsteady as she drank her tea.

"Maybe not," Harry lied, thinking that might stall Ron a bit.

"What about Jean Peverell?" Ginny had to ask.

Ron told her as he took a slice of the pie and began eating. Ginny merely nodded.

"I swear to Merlin the longer that git stays in power the less trustworthy he becomes," Ron continued about the Minister in between mouthfuls.

"In all fairness, even if Leo did know he might have forgotten," Harry thought that unlikely, "He might have thought it best not to tell you yet. Maybe he intended to tell you in the morning."

Ron seemed to have accepted that. A pager went off and mercifully it was his.

"I have to go."

"Is it about her?" Ginny asked quicker than Ron did.

"No, it isn't," he replied to them both.

"Are you going to be long?"

Harry sensed that she didn't want him to go, that she wanted to talk about Hermione some more and he really didn’t want to. As much as Harry needed to talk with someone that someone could never be Ginny. He couldn't, not when this was about Hermione. Ginny would prefer that he did but it would be cruel and he had already put her through enough to last her a lifetime.

"I'm not sure. Get some sleep. I'll wake you when I get in."

He kissed her on the forehead and left knowing that the chances of her doing as he asked were slim to none.

Harry Disapparated to the Ministry and met up with Hank in the Atrium. The thieves, Bole and Montague, had been found.

They got on the lift.

"Do you want the good news or the bad news first?"

"Just give it to me," he was in no mood.

"The good news is Montague is scared shitless and isn't talking."

"Bole's dead?"

"He killed himself when he got cornered. Said something about how he'd rather not face the Master of Death. And the CFO is pretty pissed about all the dead bodies we've sent her way."

Harry stopped walking and turned to his Deputy.

Master of Death...

"Bodies?"

"You knew Grawp the giant? He got attacked late last night on his way home and that elf who sells the prophet down the Atrium, was found in his house by a relative checking up on him; had been dead for a couple of days. Looks like foul play."

Harry walked away from Hank and went back to the lifts, "Work on Montague. Soften him up. I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?" a very confused Hank stood in the hallway.

"Hogwarts."

“Why?”

“I need to see an old Professor.”

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.

7. The Missing Wand

A/N. More mini flashbacks. More about the Morpheus Gaunt case. IMO, Harry got very bad advice from Professor Dumbledore's portrait about what to do with the Deathly Hallows.

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Chapter 7 - The Missing Wand

Harry had to rouse a somewhat vexed Headmistress Vector from sleep to get her blessing to visit the tomb of Albus Dumbledore. It took a while for the former Arithmancy Professor to understand what it was he wanted to do and it did not help that he couldn't explain the real reason why he had to and why at such an unholy hour.

But seeing who he was she couldn't really refuse. She made it clear too why she was allowing it before sending him to the lakeshore on his own. When he got to the place where the former Hogwarts Headmaster had been laid to rest, he immediately scanned for the wooden weapon's signature. His fears were confirmed. The Elder wand was no longer there.

Hermione had warned him about the decision to leave the wand with the Professor years ago. After the Gaunt case, when it became clear that the story of the Wand of Destiny had extended beyond legend and acquired interest from a rather significant evil following, she had told him to use it, destroy it, or find somewhere else to hide it forever.

"I thought you said it's just a wand."

He was sitting on the side of her bed, his body angled in her direction. She was in St. Mungo's Critical Care Unit and had been for the last three weeks, still pale and weak, recovering from the significant injuries she suffered during the final Gaunt confrontation. This was the first time they were talking about the case.

"It is and it isn't," she answered vaguely.

He raised his eyebrows and dared her to make up her mind.

"Fine. I was wrong. It isn't just a wand," she finally admitted, "You can stop gloating now."

"Just give me one more minute…," he teased.

She did not find it amusing and she seemed to be all business, actually impatient, maybe even pissed. It was like she didn't really want to talk. It may have been because she was still in St. Mungo's. He heard that she had wanted to go home since yesterday, the morning after she awoke from the Gaunt-induced coma.

"Are you all right?" he had to ask.

"I'm fine," she dismissed too quickly.

"It's just that yesterday…"

"Forget yesterday," she cut him off and wanted him to drop it.

Yesterday she lost it. Understandably so after the overwhelming information she got about the aftermath of the Gaunt case. What worried him was that she wasn't talking about it; not to him, not to Ron, not to Ginny and not to the Healers. He could see her gritting her teeth as a sad memory flit across her brown eyes, willing herself not to cry. Never in all the time he had known her had he remembered her closed up like this to the rest of them. It was unusual and he, Ginny and Ron realized last night that Hermione had never been this troubled and in need of 'help' before. She was the strong one, the one always in control who figured everything out.

"About Dean…"

"Let's not talk about him."

"You should, if not with me then with someone else. It will help."

"I appreciate the advice but I already have a shrink."

It was worth a try. The biting sarcasm towards him was a rarity. It struck him how this conversation was familiar except in the past it was the other way around. Without a shadow of a doubt she was telling him to back off. For now he would. It had only been two days since she found out.

“The wand. We should do something about the wand."

He didn't want to talk about the wand but it seemed it was the only thing she would converse about.

"It's done," he tried to reassure her. "It's back where it belongs."

"You are its master. It belongs with you or with no one at all. It's a big thing to be owner of the Elder Wand. You can't just leave it in a tomb with a dead wizard no matter how fitting you think that is."

"Why are you so concerned about it? It was good enough after Voldemort died."

"After Voldemort died very few knew what the Deathstick was and even fewer knew where it was hidden. If Gaunt found out and took it, what's to prevent another wizard or witch to do the same thing?"

"We've added more security measures."

"Protective spells can always be broken," she pointed out, “The tomb has been broken into twice!”

“You worry too much.”

"Someone should. The wand is a symbol of power and whether it has a master or not is irrelevant. Many will want it because of what it is and when it doesn't work the way they think it should, they're going to do what Voldemort did to Snape and what Gaunt did to you, attempt to get its loyalty by defeating its last known owner."

"You saw Gaunt disarm me. The wand may not even regard me as its master anymore."

"Don't say that!" she exclaimed, absolutely horrified at the thought.

"Well it could be true."

And a good thing now that Gaunt was dead, he wanted to add but held back knowing it would upset her more.

"You don't know that for a fact. Nobody does and that won't stop others from challenging you."

"Not much I can do about that."

"But that's what I'm saying. There is something you can do," she opined then with certainty told him what to do, "You should destroy it, and in public."

"Have you gone mad?!" he looked at her as if she was an imposter, "It's a magical artifact."

She shrugged, "What do you care if it's ruined or buried out of sight forever?"

"It has lots of history."

"Bad history."

"Not entirely. It did a lot of good when it was Professor Dumbledore's. It stood up against Voldemort, prevented him from hurting more people and it saved my life."

"The wand is more trouble than it's worth. Just imagine if someone like Voldemort or Gaunt gained complete control of it. There's no good reason for its existence now unless you have intentions of using it again. "

Hermione had an excellent point.

"I don't. But I can't destroy it. It belongs to the Peverells."

He was a descendant after all and he had already lost the other two Peverell heirlooms, one of them unintentionally. The expression on his face must have showed it for Hermione seemed to understand why he couldn't.

"It's just wrong to leave it where it is right now. I can't believe the Minister agreed to put it back and I can't believe the Unspeakables allowed it without a thorough examination," she said out loud and looked like she was thinking of alternatives he might find acceptable, "If you don't want to get rid of it you should use it like the Professor did. Or at least hide it somewhere nobody will ever find it."

It was obvious that she was not going to let go but he didn't want to make any promises when the decision wasn't really up to him anymore. He lost the privilege when the Ministry found out it existed. Hermione knew this fact all too well.

"I'll talk to the Minister about it," he compromised.

There was a knock on the open door. Her Healer.

"She should get her rest," she politely reminded them.

"He was just about to leave anyway," she said before he could beg for a few more minutes.

Harry could tell that he was being dismissed.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he said to her as he got up and leaned in to give her a kiss on the forehead.

On his way out she called out to him.

“I forgot to tell you yesterday. Congratulations.”

After that conversation he did follow up with the Minister to discuss moving the notorious lumber but was flat out turned down. He easily let the idea go. At that time he truly felt the Hogwarts tomb of its former Master was the most secure place for it.

He was obviously wrong. The crypt had shown no recent signs of tampering and whoever took the wand did so many years ago. Granting that the moniker 'Master of Death' was common and could mean anything, pieces of the giant puzzle were coming into place.

Again, he did not believe in coincidence and the last time he encountered the term 'Master of Death' was during the Morpheus Gaunt case. Caractakus Burke Sr. had hired thieves to find and retrieve the Peverell family trophies and 'Jean Peverell' was brought in to work the case from the inside. They eventually foiled the quest to unite Antioch's Wand of Destiny, Cadmus' Resurrection Stone and Ignotus' Cloak of Invisibility.

He lost possession of his invisibility cloak during that same case and while he was almost sure that it was lost forever he didn't have proof. As far as he knew the stone was in a DOM vault. But now that the wand was missing he doubted it was still where it was supposed to be and would have to confirm. It was conceivable that someone finally had physical possession of all three Deathly Hallows. Maybe the deceased thief had found them for this Master of Death.

On his way back to the castle he went past the old Hogwarts groundskeeper's hut uninhabited since Rubeus Hagrid, a good friend and former professor, passed away ten years ago of natural causes. No one would have thunk then that his half brother, Grawp, would become an activist for equal rights for fellow giants or become a murder victim for that matter.

Harry had seen these slayings too often, noticeably more since magical beings were brought back under the Ministry's jurisdiction. Hate crimes had steadily increased and if Muggle history was to be their yardstick about how integration would go, it was not going to be better any time soon. Grawp's death was a definite loss to the cause as was Hermione's.

Goodbye Jean Peverell…

It still didn't make complete sense.

In the years since Hogwarts he had not felt completely isolated and on his own until now. He mulled briefly about having a talk with Professor Dumbledore's portrait but he had imposed Headmistress Vector enough. And besides, there were more urgent matters to attend to in London.

Thinking about the Professor did remind him of a conversation inside a spider infested shed at the Burrow. He needed his closest friends and he still had Ron.

XXXXXXXXXX

As all of Britain woke up to unconfirmed reports of the death of Hermione Granger, Jessie Hewitt was back in her London lab. She had not slept much. The Aurors kept on sending her dead bodies she had to delegate much of the work to her already stressed out staff. Hermione's case she had to handle personally.

While unspoken, people in the know were privy to the reason why the Ministry had not yet confirmed her death. It had certainly not been a first for Aurors and those higher up in the Ministry to succumb to a disfiguring injury that prevented visual identification. But there was compelling evidence that the body she brought back from Asia was Hermione. Everything fit and matched, albeit too perfectly.

She had an assistant reconstruct the crime scene and found out traces of recent anti-Disapparition wards, the likely reason why Hermione could not get out at the time of the attack. Cause of death was hard to determine as everything happened within seconds of each other. It was consoling to know that the end had been instantaneous. On further analysis of the tissue remains three known magical signatures registered - Hermione's, Warren Gates' and the one they knew to be that of Salazar Malvado's. It was just as expected and she made the Minister aware.

The scientist in her would have called it hours ago but she was waiting to look at the Muggle CT rendering of the internal contents and injuries within the body. One would think that over the years Muggle contraptions would be able to do things faster regardless of the complexity of the information she desired but such was not the case.

Jessie looked at the parchment before her that was awaiting her signature.

Death certificate - Hermione Jean Granger

Jessie wished Harry ID’d Hermione so she wouldn't have to. She and Hermione had been friends for almost two decades. It was hard to believe that Hermione was gone and harder to be the one to have the final word that she was.

She took a neat stack of papers from the front of her desk and put it on top of the official death document. Harry had called a 7 am debriefing on the happenings of the past twenty four hours and that was thirty minutes away. Opening the files she sat back and read her staff's preliminaries on the three vics the Aurors brought in overnight.

Jessie had read it once already and wanted another look but she found it difficult to concentrate. Her thoughts kept coming back to the day she and Hermione first met. She had been with the Ministry Forensics office almost six months and was on her last week of orientation.

It was Ginny who introduced them.

"Hermione!" her flat mate squealed from the front entrance.

Hermione Granger’s arrival in their London apartment was totally unexpected. Jessie dried the dish she had in her hand, headed out of the kitchen and stood at the doorway that led into the living room. Ginny Weasley was in the foyer hugging the brown haired woman Jessie had seen in pictures. Hermione was also all smiles and hugging back.

"You should have Owled that you were coming home!" Ginny ushered her in.

"I had no time. When the hag told me my training was done I had to get out before she changed her mind again. I missed everyone so terribly."

"We missed you too. Welcome home. I can't believe it's been eight months."

"How's Harry?"

"Fine," Ginny said quickly.

"And Ron?" Hermione asked tentatively.

"He had a rough couple of months after you broke up with him but he's surviving life without you," Ginny answered the question about her brother who was an Auror for the North Quadrant. She hesitated a bit then added, "He's seeing someone else."

"Good," Hermione nodded, seemingly genuinely relieved.

Jessie didn't want to intrude and kind of felt awkward. They finally noticed her and she introduced herself, intending to make a swift exit and give the best friends privacy to catch up.

"Hi, Jessie Hewitt, Ginny's flat mate."

"Hermione Granger, her ex-flat mate."

They shook hands.

"Pleased to finally meet you. I've heard so much about you."

"It's nice to meet you too," Hermione replied politely.

"Jessie works for the Ministry. She's with Forensics."

"Are you a tech?"

"Don't call her a tech," Ginny cautioned, "It's a pet peeve of hers and she can get emotional about it."

"I kind of prefer crime analyst but hey, we just met so I won't give you the third degree," she had ranted once and Ginny never forgot that she did.

"I'm sorry," Hermione apologized, unsure if they were pulling her leg or not, "I definitely won't make that mistake again. I guess we'll be working together."

"Looking forward to it," Jessie was, having heard that Hermione was one of the best on the force. "Well, I'll go back to my dishes, give you guys time to catch up."

"You're doing no such thing," Ginny didn't let her go easily, "Get dressed. We're going out."

Hermione pointed out the time, "Ginny, it's ten o'clock."

"Then it's early. Screw bedtime. Your training is over."

"I have an early meeting tomorrow," Jessie didn't really want to spend Wednesday night out.

"I have to report to work too," Hermione echoed. "I just dropped by to say hi."

Ginny rolled her eyes in frustration.

"You two are going to be bored when I go."

"Go where?" Hermione didn't know.

Ginny grinned from ear to ear, "I finally got called up. You are looking at Ginny Weasley, professional Quidditch player, starting Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies."

"Congratulations!" Hermione screamed and threw herself at Ginny; Jessie noticed she was a natural at that. "Since when?"

"I got the word a month ago. We agreed to terms last Friday and I leave for Wales in a week. The starting pay is not much but if I do well the first year..."

"Who cares about the money? You're finally going to get what you've worked your butt off all these years," Hermione put it in perspective, mentioning how "That's really great, Gin. I'm so happy for you."

"I know it's great except I won't get to see much of you guys or the rest of the family for most of the year."

"Don't be silly. We'll always be around," Hermione said to her. "And we'll go watch your games."

"That's what I kept telling her. Not many get to live their dream."

"Jessie's right. Don't let us or anyone else hold you back from getting what you want."

"Stop beating a dead horse. I did sign up already. But we are going out tonight to celebrate and I'm not taking no for an answer. I need some serious partying before I go. Merlin only knows if Holyhead, Wales has any kind of nightlife to be had," Ginny paused and ordered, "So you, go get dressed."

Jessie had actually been to one too many celebrations but knew it would be futile to refuse, "Fine. But I trust you to watch my tequila count and not allow me make a bloody fool of myself again."

"Oh, hush! Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the snogging you initiated with that man at the bar. He gave you his number. You should really call him back," Ginny told her straight and then explained to Hermione, "She's wound up tight just like you are."

"I'm getting dressed," Jessie announced, got up and headed for her room.

"Good. I've got one week to teach you two how to have some fun. You're both going to miss me," Ginny called out after her flat mate smiling.

"Harry must be so proud and so excited for you," Jessie heard Hermione say to Ginny, "Is he working tonight?"

Jessie paused at her doorway before shutting it, wanting to hear Ginny's answer to this question.

"I wouldn't know. I haven't really talked to him in a while," Ginny's said evenly, though Jessie knew she was still torn up about the whole thing, "I...um...broke up with Harry two months ago."

"You what?!"

That night and the days before her flat mate left for fame and glory, Jessie found out first hand what kind of a friend Hermione was to Ginny. Had she not known otherwise Jessie would have guessed they were sisters who got along very well. It was a shame that they lost the friendship because they fell in love with the same man.

Jessie didn't take sides and neither really asked her to. As far as she was concerned it was Harry's fault; it usually was the man's. But of the two in the past few years it had been Hermione who she had been closer to, maybe because she felt Hermione needed her more than Ginny did. After all, after the ‘affair’ (which in her opinion wasn’t really one) Harry did choose to stay married to Ginny. Ginny had Harry and Hermione, well, she had Hugo.

With Hermione's death she wondered if Hugo had told Harry yet. She could only hope that his father would do the right thing this time around.

An interoffice mail alerted her of the availability of the scan results. She accessed the life-size rendering from a computer and looked from top to bottom, left to right, system to system. Hermione's last medical file on record verified the findings. Everything was in order.

Sign it off. The sooner you do the sooner the family can mourn.

Jessie found a quill amongst the papers and dipped it into the well. The parchment before her was waiting for a signature.

Sign it. Everything is there.

Everything is there.

Everything is there.

Shoot!

Jessie gathered up her notes. She headed for Harry's office hoping to have a word with him before the meeting but on her way out, a figure burst out seemingly from nowhere and blocked the exit.

It was a silvery grey wolf, a Patronus, one she knew belonged to Warren Gates.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. To put the two flashbacks in perspective, Jessie's happened before Harry's. And the Dean Harry mentioned is Dean Thomas.

8. Uncle Warren

A/N. Harry and Hugo talk more about Hermione and about Warren. With Harry too busy I’ve got Ted helping him out. Then Warren Gates makes an appearance in the end.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 8 – Uncle Warren

It was six when Harry got back to the Pitch. The interview with the thief Montague had taken longer than he thought and he took some time to review the initial reports on the deaths of Grawp and Phil ‘the Daily Prophet Elf’. He should have been beat but he was still high on adrenaline and the desire to get to the bottom of what happened to Hermione was keeping him up. Following the interrogation where Montague said Borgin hired him and Bole to steal indiscriminately, he began to see the bigger picture but needed Hugo's help to tie Hermione's murder into all of this.

When he arrived there was activity in the kitchen. Ginny turned as he pushed the swinging doors in.

"Hey," he greeted, the smell of bacon, eggs and hash browns filling him.

"Breakfast?"

He stood beside her as she directed some fresh oranges and peaches into the sink. The expanded breakfast counter was filled with an assortment of choices set up like a buffet. He didn't have much of an appetite.

"Maybe later," he replied, "I have a 7am at the Ministry."

She looked at the clock then nodded.

"I see we're having company."

It was after all a Weasley tradition to come together during times like this.

"Ron just called from St. Mungo’s. Rosie she seems well enough and wants to leave. They’ll be here soon. Neville's bringing the children over. Percy and Audrey will be here in a few minutes, Fleur and Bill are coming and so are George and Angelina."

"Ron and the kids will appreciate that. How's Hugo?"

"He was tossing and turning a lot but he was still asleep when I peeked in a few minutes ago."

Harry decided he would ask him after the meeting. He used the back stairs that led from the kitchen to the second floor bedrooms, set on getting a shower before heading back. As he got to the landing he heard a stir from within Al's room. The door was ajar a couple of inches, the lights were on and Hugo was awake.

The boy had his back turned away from the entrance and he was sitting on Al's bed. His empty rucksack was on it; several books, a wand, clothes and its other contents spread on the covers. He was hunched over an item in his hands and he was crying again.

Hugo didn't notice him come in until Harry got to the other side of the bed and sat beside him. Even then, Hugo did not acknowledge Harry's presence and continued to sob, his tears falling steadily on the framed moving image he was holding.

It was a magical picture of Hermione with Hugo taken recently. The backdrop where it had been taken was unfamiliar and it was one that Harry had not seen before. They were in a restaurant and in the foreground of the snapshot there was a small cake packed with candles that had just been blown off.

Hermione was smiling but appeared embarrassed as their son looked on with a mischievous grin on his face. Her last birthday, Harry gathered, and it was probably a surprise because she always preferred not to make a big deal of it. Nobody else but Hugo had been there for her last one…her last one…

Hugo noticed he was staring and offered him her framed image. An unsteady hand took it and as he ran his fingers over her face he was overwhelmed by a myriad of emotions. She was smiling…despite everything that she had gone through she was smiling...then for a brief moment, when the Hugo in the picture wasn't looking, he saw sadness in her eyes and felt her regret. Underneath it all was a desperate hope that Hugo would be alright. Then it happened. Tried as he might he failed to reserve his tears for a more private time.

Merlin…where this was coming from he didn't know but he just had to weep for the woman on the picture. He wept for her acceptance of the cruel hand fate had dealt them so many years ago, bearing it more graciously than he did and ensuring he would come to the same sane and moral conclusion. He wept for how she could not find true happiness of her own…how she tried but could not bring herself to fall in love again. He wept for how she went…how she sent their son away and then died by herself…alone as she had been all this time...besieged by enemy fire. He wept thinking about what her final thoughts were as she lay injured and slowly felt her light go…

The fact that she was bravely hiding her sorrow from Hugo made him ache for her even more. It was not fair her living that way. It was not fair her dying this way. It was not fair.

And all that for what? She kept Hugo away because of him, because she wanted him to be happy, to have that chance of an ideal life with the family he loved and was committed to. She did it for Ginny and for their children, forsaking her own and Hugo's, and in the end she realized it wasn't an even exchange.

An image of her came to mind. She was explaining, pleading, and begging him.

I can't be the other woman. I would hate myself. Don't make me be that woman.

He really shouldn't have.

As he blinked off the remaining tears he handed the picture back.

"Keep it," the boy said coldly pushing Harry's arm away as he stood, "I was there. You weren't."

Sharp, cutting. You raised him well.

Hugo started putting his stuff back into the pack. Their son was obviously hurting maybe even more than he was but neither of them would be capable of giving the other comfort. They were strangers and the boy had just pointed out to him what the picture glaringly said. He was an outsider and Hugo made sure he would feel that he was one.

"Thanks," Harry said anyway then got up, closed the door and Imperturbed it wandlessly, thinking he had to do this now, "Let's talk about your Mum."

Hugo walked towards the window away from Harry, leaned on the ledge and brought his arms across his chest. It was clear Hugo was on his guard and didn't really trust him.

"Where do you want me to start?"

XXXXXXXXXX

The magical perpetual clock read six thirty. Ted was already at the Ministry Atrium trekking with purpose past the fountain and to the lifts. He had slipped out of the house quietly, careful not to wake his wife up. It worried him when she was worried and she was very much so after hearing of what had happened to Hermione.

Seeing all that yesterday was surreal. Hermione was one of his favorite 'aunts' although after he got his letter to attend Hogwarts Hermione ask him to stop calling her that. It was difficult for although she wasn't a blood relative, he had grown up knowing her as his Aunt. She was part of the extended family who embraced him and his grandmother after the war took his mother, father and grandfather away. It was through her that he learned about his parents, well, the version he liked the best, because she was detailed and vivid in her accounts. It amazed him how she remembered everything.

And he had always admired her for the work that she did for non-wizards in the Magical World. When he was about fourteen, he heard her speak at a gathering of like-minded supporters and she mentioned his Dad, about how his Dad had been accepted by society as a wizard but barely tolerated for the half that wasn't, and how they should be inspired by those like him to carry on the fight for change. Her impassioned speech brought tears to his eyes and he fell in love with Hermione Granger the woman right then and there.

The memory of his boyhood hormone charged crush made him blush and brought a smile to his face. She sure handled that well although it still embarrassed him when he thought about that moment when he, set in his mind that Hermione's concern and attention meant she fancied him, declared his undying love and proposed marriage.

“Teddy...”

“Call me Ted.”

“Ted, listen to me. This is very flattering but what you're feeling right now is not the real deal.”

“It is; I swear it is. I think about you night and day. I lo...”

“You should be going out with girls your own age.”

“But I don't like girls my age. They're petty, immature and superficial.”

“You have to look harder and give them a chance.”

“But I don't want to...”

“I'm not going to argue with you. You must know that it's illegal for me to have a relationship much less marry an underage wizard but I'm willing to compromise. Once you become of age and you still feel strongly about this we can talk again. And if you don't feel the same way, I won't even bring it up.”

His crush lasted all of six months. He started going out with girls his age and then, sometime after, fell in love with Victoire Weasley. Hermione was unable to attend their wedding last year but she sent him a gift with a most amusing note.

I told you so.

Ted sighed as he remembered last night, the smile leaving his face as quickly as it appeared. It was difficult to believe that she was gone.

He got to and settled into his desk on about three hours sleep and on three cups of coffee, and began reviewing the case of the robberies and the murders of Borgin and Burkes. Last night, as sleep was about to overtake him, he was working an angle based on the physical evidence that Borgin had been taken from his quarters above the shop, tied up prior to being murdered somewhere else and his body dumped in the middle of an existing crime scene to make it look like it was part of the robbery.

From Ministry and public files, Caractakus Burkes Jr. was a businessman with no known history of violence or any suspicious affiliations. Dung Fletcher's info about Burkes being responsible for his partner's death and the robbery being coincidental were not only farfetched, they did not support the physical evidence. Why tie Borgin up and kill him much later? Burkes could have easily killed Borgin in the shop and robbed it at the same time to get the same effect. Even if Burkes wanted to make his partner suffer before killing him (and there was no evidence that Borgin had been physically tortured), why take him somewhere else, risk being noticed moving the body out and then in again just to make the appearance. Why not just dump the body elsewhere?

Then it hit him. Maybe it was the appearance. Forensics easily uncovered the fact that Borgin did not die in the shop at the time of the robbery. This and the story Fletcher heard over the grapevine was to make the Aurors believe Burkes had something to do with Borgin's murder. Maybe Burkes was set up.

The question was 'why'. And 'who'. Surely it wouldn't be by the same murderers who took Burkes' life in broad daylight. Actually, getting Burkes arrested for Borgin's murder might have saved his life.

I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper.

The witnesses who heard Burkes' final words thought he was calmer than he should have been and he sounded as if he was glad that he wasn't the Keeper, that he accepted his doom. Burkes knew his attackers and he knew they were coming for him.

A fresh set of files were just uploaded into the Auror database. More murders. The names caught his attention; Grawp the Giant and Phil the free Elf. Grawp, he knew, having seen him in Weasley family gatherings over the years. The giant worked a lot with Hermione during her many years of pushing the Ministry and Wizengamot for more non-wizard inclusive legislation and funding. It was a curious coincidence that they would both be murdered within twenty four hours of each other.

But of more interest to him was the murder of Phil. Though Ted never bought the Prophet he knew the free elf who was a fixture in the Atrium. The elf's name came up in Burkes' appointment book next to a bunch of letters Ted had had no luck finding the meaning to yet. The entry was for last month.

Daily Prophet Phil - POTH - Hog's Head

Those letters, P-O-T-H, were in Burkes' appointment books for years, sporadic meetings that seemed to be held more often at the run-down and dodgy Hogsmeade tavern than anywhere else. Ted had intended to question Phil about it and now he was dead.

His phone rang. It was Dung Fletcher.

"I have something for your godfather."

More lies? He checked himself in time.

"I'm listening."

"Burkes."

"What about him?"

"The word is he was part of the POTH."

Maybe the informant knew something after all.

"What's the POTH?"

"Dunno. Sounds to me like some clandestine organization. But, whatever it is, there were seven members and your Aunt Hermione supposedly founded it. I hear she's dead too."

XXXXXXXXXX

"Where do you want me to start?" Hugo asked him.

Harry took a position closer to Hugo, mindful about not crowding his space. In truth Harry wanted to know about the day when he first found out who he really was, what Hermione told him and how he felt about it. Seeing Hugo’s current demeanor he recognized it wasn’t the right time for that.

"You said she was working for the Ministry. When did that happen?"

"Last year, when we were here for Grandma's funeral. She met with the Minister. I overheard her saying to him it was just this one time."

"What was the assignment about?"

"Uncle Warren."

Harry cringed inside.

"What does Warren have to do with this?"

"Uncle Warren was part of a team of five hired by the International Magical Police to get rid of Salazar Malvado. They had lost all contact with him and then his team members were all found murdered. They believed he had turned. The Ministry, on the request of the IMP, asked Mum to take him into custody, and Malvado too if she could."

"As Jane Peverell?"

"No. As herself," Hugo said stonily but somewhat teary-eyed.

Harry felt hot all of a sudden. She was bait. The Ministry used her past relationship with Warren, knew Malvado would be after her and kept dangling her as bait.

“Did she have back-up?”

Surely she had to have someone watch her back.

“She insisted on not having one. She said it would only raise suspicion.”

"Why did she agree to it?"

"She wanted to prove that Uncle Warren was innocent and to help get rid of Malvado."

Harry paused and pondered for a moment. Like Hermione Harry could not imagine Warren working for Malvado, not because Warren was such a morally solid individual but because he had an ego the size of Asia it was unimaginable for him to take orders from someone else, especially a Dark Lord.

But something had happened in the last few days that spooked her.

"Did Warren find out?"

"Uncle Warren knew from the beginning. Mum convinced the IMP to keep him in. They were working together to get to Malvado. A few days ago they got proof that Malvado was after the Elder Wand.”

“That’s why she sent you to me."

“Yes.”

And now same wand was missing. Could Hermione have moved it? She was capable and had good reason to. Or maybe the Ministry did.

“You know what the Elder wand is.”

“Of course. Mum’s unabridged version of what happened between you and Voldemort was an essential part of my education.”

"Did your Mum have the wand?"

"No. Uncle Warren said Malvado had started calling himself Master of Death, that Malvado must have it already but she didn't believe him. She told the Minister. He confirmed that the wand was no longer where it was supposed to be and he ordered her out. He did not want to get involved."

And she got involved anyway but did not want him or Ron there. She thought she could handle it on her own. His best guess was she got close to Malvado and he got to her before she could. And Warren, it was unlikely but not inconceivable that he sold her out.

"How do you know all this?"

"Uncle Warren had been sharing stuff with me during Legilimency and Occlumency lessons. Mum was cross, downright livid when she found out but it wasn't Uncle Warren's fault. I wanted to know what was going on and he trusted me with it. He told me I had to know so I could help her and protect her but she never gave me the chance."

He watched Hugo’s guilt ridden expression and swore to himself. Warren was a bastard for dragging the kid into all this. Uncle Warren. While Warren and Hermione were a couple once Harry had an objection about how his son idolized, defended and kept calling the manipulative arse 'uncle'. There should be a rule against using 'uncle' to address a non relative.

"Were he and your Mum...," he had to stop; he should have formulated the full question before the half-curious half-case-pertinent inquiry stumbled out of his mouth.

He’s thirteen. He must know about the birds and the bees.

"Sleeping together?" Hugo completed for him, "I don’t know. He did occasionally spend the night in our guest bedroom and he keeps a few personal items there."

Of the few men Hermione dated after she divorced Warren was the only one who kept coming back. Harry had made the mistake of asking his ex-partner what his intentions were. He intervened only because Warren had a reputation of not being a one-woman-man.

"She tells me you're just friends. You don't have woman friends."

"Is it so hard to believe that I'm a changed man?"

"Yes. So cut the crap."

Warren laughed.

"We're shag-mates. She calls me when she wants to have a good time and I call her for same thing."

His words grated like metal against metal. He had suspected that this was how she was moving on and it hurt that she chose this.

"Hermione's a good person. She deserves someone better. No offense meant."

He shrugged, "None taken. She already knows I'm a bastard."

"If you're not serious about her then you should stay away."

"She's not looking for ‘serious’. She says she’s done with ‘serious’. Perhaps you should be talking to her."

He wanted to but he had no right.

"If you hurt her..."

"Relax, Harry. I know you’re best friends and all but Hermione's a big girl. She can take care of herself. And I can't hurt her; she doesn't care about me enough."

“Hugo, how do I find Warren?”

“I don't have his phone number, if that's what you're asking.”

Harry rephrased his question.

“If you had to, in a pinch, can you get in touch with him?”

Hugo was shaking his head and was about to lie.

Having no more time for games, Harry interrupted, “When I spoke with your Mum yesterday Warren was with her. He has information and maybe the means that will help us bring Malvado to justice. I need to talk with him.”

Hugo took some time to contemplate then finally said, “I can't tell you. But I can help you find him.”

The boy was playing hardball. For most of their conversation he answered as briefly as he could, never sharing more information than required. Hugo was holding back. He wanted to come with him to find Warren and Malvado and unless Harry agreed, the interview was over.

“Let me think about it,” Harry answered, already thinking he could get to Warren through some other means. “There's breakfast in the kitchen.”

Harry made for the door taking the picture of Hermione with him and said to his son, "I'm telling your Dad and your Aunt Ginny about you later today. Do you want to be around for that?"

The response was quick.

"No."

Harry stepped out, the sound of Weasleys and Potters floating up the stairwell from the kitchen. He walked away from it for at that exact moment, the Potter kitchen was the last place he wanted to be in.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jessie was magically blindfolded and could not see a thing. Immediately regretting her earlier decision to accept Warren's invitation without much question, she wanted to go back to the Ministry, or at least call her husband to tell him where she was. He would be so pissed if she got killed for trusting the untrustworthy ex-Auror.

"I shouldn't have come," she muttered out loud to the man who had just confiscated her phone and was pulling her by the hand.

"Too late, you're here," Warren Gates answered dryly.

Jessie could never tell when he was joking or not. She could hear laughing in the background, drunken men, flirting women.

"Are we in a brothel?" she blurted out, a bit scandalized.

"How do you know? Been to a few before?"

"Of course not!"

Heat rushed to her face. Warren was abrasive; always was. He enjoyed provoking others that way. She kept her mouth shut the rest of the way and listened to the distant voices of locals cajoling and teasing in a foreign language. She told herself that this was the right thing to do. Warren didn't give her time to decide or much of an option. His Patronus said that he had information about Hermione and he would not tell anyone else except her.

They continued to walk through what felt like a narrow corridor, turning around corners maybe four or five times until they came to a complete stop. Warren knocked on wood softly and she heard a door creak open. It closed shut after they came in and a warm muggy atmosphere welcomed them.

Warren took the blindfolds off. It took a moment to fully adjust to the brightly lit room but when she did she could not believe her eyes. They were in an obsolete Muggle infirmary, well, at least that’s what it looked like from her memory of textbook pictures. A gathering of women in white frocks were around the one patient attached to several Muggle healing devices. A crucifix hung neatly at the head of the bed as repetitive prayers followed the rustle of rosary beads over the intermittent warnings from the monitors.

She saw Warren light one of the many candles beside the entrance and cross himself. Jessie regained her bearings and capacity for communication then motioned over to the patient who lay still on the bed.

"Is that who I think it is?" she hissed.

"Yes," he answered back in a hushed voice.

"Seriously."

"Cross my heart and hope to die."

"Then why isn’t she in St. Mungo’s and who's the woman in my freezer?!"

XXXXXXXXXX

9. The Unofficial Minister Of Magic

A/N. So, yes Hermione is alive. I love reading the theories and the comments. Thanks to all those who have reviewed.

This chapter was a struggle to write because I wanted to give you enough answers without ruining the end. It will be mostly about the mystery. Jessie and Warren first, then Hugo and Rose, followed by Harry and the Unofficial Minister.

Enjoy.

XXXXXXXXX

Chapter 9 – The Unofficial Minister of Magic

The praying ended just as Jessie approached the bed, the ex-Auror right behind her. The group of nuns said 'hullo' and it took a few seconds before it sunk in who the 'Father Warren' they were referring to was. The ‘priest’ shot her a brief glare when she snorted involuntarily but after politely acknowledging the greetings her eyes were immediately back on the woman who Warren just confirmed was the real Hermione.

It had been months since she last saw Hermione. Aside from sporting recently haphazardly-cut shorter hair her friend did not look any differently and, in sharp contrast to the unrecognizable body found at the house, this Hermione was unblemished. If not for the tube in her mouth that was attached to the Muggle breathing machine and the various bags of fluids and medications hooked up on both her arms Hermione looked like she was merely asleep. Jessie glanced at the monitors and read the labels on the drugs she was on. From the Muggle Medicine course she attended years ago she concluded that Hermione was not doing well and all she could think of was the many ways she could call the arse beside her an idiot.

The visitors left at Warren's request. Finally. Warren instantly pulled the curtains around them and handed Jessie her wand back.

"Why is she here?"

"It's the only safe place she can get medical attention."

"Safe?!" she hissed, angry at his lack of urgency and his lax definition of safe, "This makeshift archaic Muggle hospital?! Are there even other patients here? A real doctor?"

"It used to be government run hospital but closed because of funding. The local church has run it for years mostly as an outpatient clinic, but they do not turn away sicker patients who have to stay over. A doctor comes once a day and the nuns do what they can in his absence," Warren answered.

The nuns? She bit her lower lip needing to filter her thoughts. She was born and raised a Catholic and did not want to be disrespectful.

After a few seconds, Warren asked her impatiently, "Well, what are you waiting for?"

"What?!"

"Aren't you going to do something to make her better?"

A disbelief (and panic) washed over her.

"Oh, was that why you made me come here?!"

"Why else do you think? To join the rosary brigade?!" he replied sarcastically.

"I'm a Forensics analyst! I'm not a Healer!" she declared, "And you're a moron! She should be in St. Mungo's or a magical hospital at least!"

"You took Healer's class," he pointed out.

"For a year then I dropped out. To be more accurate, I flunked out," she confessed, "Why do you think I ended up in Forensics?"

He was flustered. He was obviously misinformed about that.

"She said you fixed her up once."

Years ago Hermione injured her spleen badly but did not want to be seen at St. Mungo's. She asked Jessie to take it out. That was what clued her in that freezer woman wasn't Hermione.

"I almost killed her the last time. Or did she forget to mention that little detail too?"

"You'll do better. I have faith in you, child," he said in a mock priest tone.

"Shut up with this nonsense. Let's get her to a real Healer."

Warren wasn't budging. He must have a good reason for insisting; he better.

"You're good at finding out what's wrong. Find out what's wrong with her. You're the only one I trust."

He pleaded with his eyes and Jessie looked at Hermione again. She thought about it but realizing what was at stake, shook her head.

"I'm not doing this to soothe your paranoid ass. This is clearly way over my head. I only do dead beings."

"She's very close to dying. It won't be much of a stretch," came Warren's feeble attempt to make it sound logical, then tried to explain, "We don't have much time. We can't take her to a magical hospital. Malvado will know she's alive and then he'll come after her again."

"If you don't take her to a Healer she'll die anyway."

"She's as good as dead once Malvado finds out."

"The Ministry will protect her."

"They won't. And even if they tried, they can't. I can't. She barely escaped last night. She has to get better before Malvado realizes that she's not dead."

This wasn't his usual bullshit. Warren was telling her what he knew to be true.

Having worked on high security cases with Aurors and Unspeakables Jessie was used to cryptic information but the details were of no relevance to her at the moment. Right now Hermione needed magical healing attention.

"Look," he lowered his gaze momentarily as if carefully contemplating what he was about to say, "You know who she is to me. Do you think I would ever endanger her life like this if I had a choice?"

She had to give him that. As much as Warren was a prick to most he was a passable human when it came to Hermione.

"Okay. I'll try, but if I'm stumped your Plan B better have something to do with getting her seen by a Healer."

Warren nodded, "Fair enough."

"And you have to tell someone. Hugo and Rosie, Ron; you can't just let them think she's dead."

"She would have wanted it this way."

"I disagree. I can't imagine her not sending word."

"It's for their safety," Warren replied, "But I'll think about it. Just make her better."

Jessie would have to make sure Warren followed through on that one. No matter what happened, her family needed to be here.

She asked, "Tell me how this happened."

As Warren told her what he knew, she raised her wand over Hermione’s body and did a gross physical assessment of Hermione's condition, hoping her twelve months of Healing school and twenty years of forensics experience would be enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

He's not going to go for it.

Hugo had himself convinced. His father said so himself. If his Mum sent him away to keep him safe, there was no chance in hell he would be allowed to return.

Right now his Mum was just another statistic and would remain so until Malvado was put in prison. He felt he had to go back and help. His rucksack was packed but he was not stupid. It would be crazy to go back and find Malvado on his own. He was a kid and if his Mum, Uncle Warren and the IMP could not arrest the Dark Wizard it was delusional to think he could do so without help. He did not even know if Uncle Warren was still alive.

Getting Uncle Harry involved was a must. Really, if there was one person who could get rid of a Dark Wizard like Malvado it would be him. He had done it many times before and he wasn't Head Auror for nothing.

Uncle Harry...he felt resentment eating him up again. Before he found out who he really was 'Uncle Harry' was the coolest uncle anyone could ever have. But now, he was just the guy he hated for breaking his Mum's heart and getting off so easily. His Mum's words burned in his mind.

It wasn't his fault, honey. I never told him about you. You should be angry at me.

He was at first, but he couldn't stay mad at her. He understood what she was trying to do; the truth would hurt Lily and Hugo could not bear the thought of Lily hating their father like he did. And he couldn't bear staying in touch with the Potters either.

Seeing his father with Aunt Ginny in the Potter kitchen set off an intense emotion he could not identify. He had never seen his Mum with anyone that way and it was all Uncle Harry's fault...his because he chose Aunt Ginny.

He could not stand seeing this end result of his Mum's sacrifice years ago. Hugo wondered if this was what his Mum had to endure before they left four years ago and if so, why she hadn’t left sooner. The Potters were happy. Lily was happy and he, Harry Potter's bastard, was the ticking time bomb that would end all that. Hugo had his Dad. He didn't need Harry Potter as a father. Lily, Al and James did.

It was for these reasons that Hugo wanted to stay away as long as he could. Last night was unexpected. When the Ministry sentry caught up with him he panicked and transfigured back, hoping he would be recognized as 'Al' and be in less trouble. By the time the Head Auror figured out he wasn’t Al all he was concerned about was going back to his Mum.

But they were too late.

He thought back to their conversation earlier and he had read his father perfectly. Aunt Ginny would have to know and his Dad too. James, Al and Lily would be next and then all hell would break lose. He had to tell Rosie so she would be more prepared.

What a mess. It would have been better had he remained Ron Weasley's son. The last thing he wanted was to be outed but a part of him needed to know what the older man would do. And Hugo had to admit there was something satisfying about seeing his father's futile attempts to set things right. Hugo wanted to see him struggle just as his Mum did, to go through what she did. He was doing it for his Mum.

As he thought of how to get his father to allow his involvement on the Malvado case, he heard somebody knock on the door. He turned the knob, pulled it back, and was immediately on the receiving end of a bone crushing hug that reminded him so much of his mother.

"Oh, Hughie," his sister said, tears and concern in her brown eyes as she let go, "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," he replied, trying not to stare at her pink hair, "Are you?"

That question triggered Rosie to sob uncontrollably. Hugo pulled his sister in an embrace, patting her on the back awkwardly. He had never done something like this before.

"I can't believe she's gone...I've been such a brat...I was just so angry when I found out..."

"She understood Rosie. She knew what you were going through."

Hugo reassured his sister. He overheard her Mum and Uncle Warren one night talking about Rosie and about him. Uncle Warren was trying to comfort her that they would be fine but that they both needed time to think things through.

"I'm so sorry..." his sister continued.

"No need to be."

Rosie pulled away and asked, "Was she angry at me?"

"No. She told me to tell you that she loved you."

That made Rosie cry even more. His shirt was all wet from her tears just as it was the night before from their Mum's. He cried too as he remembered.

…in case I'm delayed, take care of Rose...

Rosie has always been a good sister. Before she left for Hogwarts she looked out for him, taught him what she learned and always made sure he wasn't left out during games. It was by accident that she found out about the big secret over the summer.

"I was just so stupid, so full of myself. Dad doesn't know yet, does he?"

Hugo shook his head, "Uncle Harry does."

"You should stop calling him ‘Uncle Harry’."

"Well I'm not calling him ‘Dad’."

"It wasn't his fault."

It irked him sometimes how she sounded just like their mother.

"Don't you take his side on this. I'm still not calling him ‘Dad’."

Rosie let the matter go, for now.

"What happens next?"

"He's telling Aunt Ginny and Dad later today."

"Oh no!"

"What?"

Rosie hesitated for a moment before deciding to tell him her thoughts, "Don't get me wrong. I really think you should stop hiding behind the brown hair and brown eyes. But I just hope that before they decide to tell anyone else they think about Mum and make sure she's remembered for who she really was, the good she did, the reason she was killed, and not for... you know..."

She couldn't finish. They couldn't talk about their Mum that way but she was right. He didn't want his identity to detract from what the rest of their Mum’s life was about and it would once the press found out.

"I'll make sure," he told her confidently.

They heard hurried footsteps in the hallway. He took a deep breath as the door to Al's room swung wide open. The first person in was a red head who immediately hugged him.

"I'm so sorry Hughie," his half sister said while his other siblings looked on.

He nodded but couldn't find the words to go with the action. He felt tears in his eyes again. It killed him that he was about to hurt them. They were so going to hate him after they found out.

XXXXXXXXXX

Sometime before Rose arrived at the Pitch, Harry received a troubling but not surprising report from Forensics. Borgin, Grawp and Phil were all killed by the same two murder weapons used to off Burkes. Too revved up to wait, he remotely ran a database query on the 'V' or 'W' tattoo Jessie had seen on the wrists of Burkes' murderers. The first one done by Ted yesterday did not return a single match but with the dead thief's mention of the Master of Death and Hugo's information that Malvado was claiming to be it, he went on a hunch and did a specific search for drawings or markings associated with Salazar Malvado.

Harry left home right after a quick shower, Flooed into the Ministry and headed straight to his office. His assistant, Leila, was already in and preparing for the meeting he had called. When he got to his desk Leila handed him his usual black, unsweetened coffee.

"I am very sorry to hear that Ms. Granger has passed away," she said to him in private.

Her sympathy wasn't earnest but then Harry didn't expect her to say anything at all. Leila and Hermione never got along. She hated how Hermione refused to ask for appointments to see him and how she used to drop by his office without notice, ignoring and messing up his schedule which Leila had meticulously prepared the day before. She even accused Hermione of having an illegal copy of his timetable because the latter always seemed aware of changes seconds after they were made.

It was partly a territorial thing for the older woman, that and the fact that being old-fashioned, Leila did not think his close friendship with Hermione was appropriate. He even suspected his assistant had something to do with the press drumming up an old story about them having an affair weeks before Hermione resigned four years ago. At the time Leila had been Harry's assistant for less than a year and Harry almost fired her had Hermione not intervened and told him she was the best person for the job.

"Thanks," he was sure his reply sounded as hollow.

"Auror Lupin left a message for you to call him when he gets in and the Minister can’t meet until the afternoon."

Harry let out a frustrated sigh and nodded, wondering if Leo was avoiding him. Leo had declined his invitation to the 7am meeting too. Deciding to call Ted later, he got on the Ministry database and accessed the query on Malvado.

There were a few returns. Among them, the exact letter symbol just as Jessie described only it was not a V or W, but an M, slightly stretched out to form the base of a vulture. The info on it was that Malvado marked those in his inner sanctum with the symbol, the branding a rite of passage reserved only for those who could equal his lack of respect for life. It proved that the robberies and the murders were connected and that connection was Salazar Malvado.

Robberies, murders, Master of Death…

Malvado was looking for something and Burkes knew where it was. Did he think the other murder victims knew? Did he ever find it?

The involvement of the Death Stick did create a bit of a dilemma about how to proceed with the case. It was not supposed to exist and it was preferable for it to remain nonexistent. At the time of the Gaunt case it had been revealed to a select few in the Ministry and Auror Office and Harry was inclined to do the same, at least unless he was certain there was no other way to move the case forward without mention of it. The difficulty would be how to keep it off the discussion. If they were able to make the connection as teenagers it would be discouraging if the Aurors didn’t.

He made a few copies of the vulture symbol and was about to head for the conference room when Leo Jericho knocked on his open door. Seeing the Minister there was a surprise.

"I didn't think you could make it," he told the Minister.

"I actually can't. Max will be there," Leo admitted, "We do need to talk before your meeting. Unofficially."

Leo went in and shut the door behind him, took one look at the leather visitor seats in front of Harry's desk and decided not to sit. The Unofficial Minister went directly to Harry's window gazing at the projected view of Muggle London as it was coming alive. Harry understood to join him.

"I am sure you have questions about Hermione's death and about the mention of 'Jean Peverell'," he said then paused, looking for a reaction. When Harry remained stoic, he asked, "Should I start?"

"I'm listening."

Harry figured a composed explanation would be better than a pointed interrogation. While the Minister would have likely rehearsed it, it would certainly give Leo more rope to hang himself with if he was lying.

"A year ago we were approached by the IMP to rein in a rogue Canadian freelance operative they had sent undercover to infiltrate the Malvados. You know him. I believe he was briefly your partner."

"Warren Gates."

Leo was a bit taken aback that Harry seemed to know where their conversation was going.

The Minister continued, "Gates had lost his entire team and stopped communicating with the IMP. It was believed that he had turned and the IMP wanted him neutralized before he could do more harm. They first looked to the Canadians but the Canucks didn't have the resources. Knowing that Gates had worked here for some time, the IMP asked us next. So, we searched our ranks for qualified personnel and came up with a short list of two. But I was quite unwilling to send my Head Auror overseas for an undetermined period of time. You can guess who the other person on that list was."

Harry understood why their names came up. While there were certainly other active personnel who could have done the job, the results were based more on familiarity of the target than skill. And besides, having worked with Warren he knew there were very few who could match his wand proficiency at dueling.

"Of course, I took into consideration that Hermione had not worked in the field for quite some time. It still seemed that she would be the right person for the job."

"You asked her during her Mum's funeral," Harry challenged, "A bit low, wouldn't you think?"

The Minister blushed beet red, "It was an urgent matter, Harry. The IMP needed an answer. She didn't seem to mind."

"You were aware of the gross conflict of interest."

"You're talking about their previous personal history. Yes, and she pointed that out herself but I trusted that she would do the right thing," Leo replied, "She was cognizant that we were counting on that aspect of her relationship with Gates to help with the mission."

"And she agreed to it?"

"Not right away, but she had been receiving warnings from Malvado and was very motivated to help the IMP. Even then she had several stipulations; among them that she would do it her way and report only to me."

"And you didn't tell me because..."

"She asked me not to discuss the case with you or Ron until it was over."

That was likely true. Ron had always shared his distrust for Warren and Hermione, aware of how they felt, had decided long ago that the less detail they had about the extent of her association with Warren the better. Ron was more vocal, maybe playing the 'he's not good for the children' card more times than necessary. He, on the other hand, never said what he wanted to. It was none of his business who she chose to be with. But although he never said it, Hermione knew how he felt. She always had the knack of knowing without asking.

The Minister interrupted his thoughts.

"It wasn't long before she was able to draw out Gates but she persuaded the IMP to keep him in and talked me into allowing her to continue and work with Gates on his original assignment."

"So Warren…Gates had not turned after all?"

"Hermione didn't think so but she wasn't sure," Leo answered, "She said she needed more time."

This was not the impression he got from Hugo's story.

"But she blew her cover?"

"She said that was the only way to get him to show his true colors."

"What was his excuse for not checking in?"

"He was at a crucial stage of infiltration and was being watched. He said he did not want to compromise his cover as the rest of the team foolishly had."

"A year. Seems a bit long to get to Malvado."

"It wasn't my show. I'm not a law enforcer, Harry. I was busy running a country halfway across the world. I had done my part to help the IMP and what Hermione wanted to do was not something I could influence or control."

"You could have given her back-up."

"She insisted on working alone."

"You should have insisted back! We never let our agents work alone, no matter what!"

"Gates was with her."

"Gates isn't one of us!"

"What do you want me to say, Harry? Nothing will bring her back!"

"An apology? An acknowledgment that you screwed up?"

"I pulled her out of the case. She wouldn't listen."

"You should have thought that would happen when you sent her in! She never left a mission unresolved in her career, never left a partner on his own! She wasn't going to start now!"

There were no more rebuttals from the Minister after that but there would be no apologies forthcoming either. Leo Jericho was a proud man and if not for the fact that he knew Harry was right, would not have allowed to be talked to that way. Harry's breathing and heartbeat finally slowed to normal pace.

"You said you pulled her out."

"A few days ago. She asked me to check on the Elder Wand and I found out it was missing."

Harry thought that odd even when Hugo told him.

"You took her off the case when the Elder Wand was possibly in the hands of a dangerous wizard?"

"I did not want my Ministry involved. The implications, the complexity of sending more Aurors…the stone is missing too…" he stammered through but Harry, remembering Hermione from Hugo's memory, did not let him continue.

"She asked for your help and you refused."

Unbelievable. There seemed to be no end to how much disgust he could feel towards the Minister. The latter's expression had hardened.

"It wasn't my problem and I wasn't going expose more Brits to danger halfway across the world and definitely not after what happened the last time that wand was involved in a case."

"Well, guess what? Since you chose not to get involved, here's an up-to-date body count of Brits killed by Malvado on your soil. Four and counting. But you knew that already before you came in here, didn't you? That's why you came."

They stared each other down.

"What did Malvado's men want with Burkes?"

"They were looking for something."

Duh!

"What? What's the Keeper keeping? Is it the cloak?"

"I can't tell you."

Harry lost patience once again.

"Quit jerking me around! If you want my help tell me what this is all about!"

"You know how the Unbreakable vow works! I want to tell you but it will kill me if I do!"

“Who did you make the vow to?”

He answered with reluctance, “Hermione.”

"Montague said it was Borgin who hired him and Bole. Was Borgin looking for the same thing?"

"Yes."

"Did Malvado hire Borgin?"

"No, I did," Leo said without batting an eyelash, and then added, "Unofficially."

"To look for the same thing that the Keeper is keeping?"

"Yes."

"Did you find it?"

"No."

"Did Malvado?"

"I don't know."

"Who's the Keeper?"

"I don't know," Leo repeated his last reply and Harry must have glared at him again for he responded, pressured. "It was Hermione but the Fidelus hasn’t broken. She must have passed on the Keepership to someone else.”

“Who do you think she passed it on to?”

“I suspect Gates.”

“Then we should ask him.”

“We can’t. Gates blatantly refused his supervisor’s order to pull back and report on what happened to Hermione last night. He resigned and we’ve lost all contact.”

“He’s gone under again,” Harry said to himself, trying to figure out why Warren would do something drastic at this stage of the case.

“A warrant for his arrest has been issued. We think Gates sold her out, Harry. We think he told Malvado she was Jean Peverell.”

“Why would Malvado care that she was?”

The Minister of Magic was pale as he wiped the sweat off his brow.

“Because Jean Peverell was the mistress of the Elder Wand.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N : Is Gates good or bad? The Minister?

Up next – not sure. Which would you like to read first? The Harry-Ginny and Harry-Ron conversations about Hugo or chapters of the past?

10. Partners

A/N. Here’s a quick update – your reviews were inspiring! Most voted past – so here’s when it started (the first part is not really from the past but it was so I could write the first bit in Hermione’s POV). Most of it came in one sitting after trashing two attempts. It felt good – the last chapter I wrote that way was TPPs baseball chapter. My apologies in advance to Ron-Luna fans.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 10 – Partners

Hermione awoke from nothingness, her last memory an attempt to transfigure under a rain of curses and gunfire. Did she make it?

She looked around and immediately concluded there was something out of the norm. She was underwater, breathing through a bubble-head charm, her feet touching soft, mushy ground. There were various plants and water creatures around her but they were seemingly oblivious to her presence.

In her solitude her thoughts filled with images of Rose and Hugo. There seemed to be only one logical thing to do.

She kicked off the earth with her feet and swam straight up to the surface. She swam and swam, long, hard, straight up, aiming for the light at the top.

But it was taking forever to get there. Minutes, possibly hours passed and she wasn't even close. Her heart was thumping like crazy and her lungs felt like they were going to explode. Her legs and arms were so tired. She had to stop. She had to rest even if just for a few minutes.

And the second she stopped kicking and paddling she drifted back down faster than it took her to work her way up. She tried to swim up again but the results were the same. The surface was too far away. In desperation she began to cry, her tears merging with the fresh water that surrounded her. It was too hard and probably too late. She couldn't do it, not by herself and there was no one else.

Then, out from nowhere, a hand reached out and took hers. It was a man's; big, warm, protective and strong. She looked up and saw an encouraging face beaming down upon her. It was her first partner, unchanged from almost twenty years ago, preserved by time and space. With a finger, he motioned towards the surface.

Even before she could shake her head and explain that she had tried she heard his voice.

"I'll help you but it won't be easy. You have to really want to be up there."

"I do," she said with all her heart.

"Good. We'll take it slowly. We don't have to rush."

She nodded and began to swim beside him.

He said to her, "So, tell me how you've been."

XXXXXXXXXX

January 2003

"I still can't believe you're back," her partner said to her, not for the first time since seeing her at the Ministry that morning.

It was half past noon and Hermione was in the driver's seat of a Ministry issue Japanese sedan. Beside her was her Auror partner and former Hogwarts classmate, Dean Thomas.

"Will you stop saying that? And quit staring at me. You're starting to freak me out," she said honestly.

"You leave without warning and you come back without one. Now, that freaks me out. Tell me about the training."

"Can't. Sworn to secrecy," Hermione gave him the company line as she turned the corner and into a parking lot. "All I can say is that the Hag really is a fucking bitch."

Dean let out a howl, "Did you just say fucking bitch?!"

"I believe I just did," she laughed with him and blushed, knowing why he found it so funny.

"If the Hag got you to swear then she must be really good," Dean commented as they got out of the car, "I can't wait to find out what else she has you doing."

Hermione thought about the answer to that. In truth, she felt the eight months with the Hag was a colossal waste of time. She hated it that when sufficiently frustrated and provoked she could now swear like a sailor without hesitation. She hated the fucking Hag since Day 1.

Note to self - must find way to regain filters.

Aside from that, she did not think she learned much magic at all, particularly when the Hag's favourite instruction to her was 'wands away', making Hermione wonder if the Auror trainer was an old Hogwarts DADA professor in disguise.

Dean pulled the door and held it open for her. They found their booth in the Wasabi Hut, a cozy Japanese restaurant in the theatre district where they went to lunch almost every week before she went away. She missed it.

The waitress who was serving them was new; at least she was someone Hermione had not remembered from before. Knowing what she wanted, she took one glance at the menu and put it down while patiently waiting for Dean to make a decision on what he wanted, which always ended up being…

"Chicken teriyaki with the miso soup," her partner said to the waitress predictably, "What about you?"

"The sashimi with the salad please, and some tea."

When the waitress left she took the opportunity to catch up with her partner.

"You look good."

"Thanks."

It had no hidden meaning. They were friends, platonic all the way. They had grown closer since she came on the Auror team three years ago and got assigned to be his partner. Dean joined the force the same time Harry did some two years before her, straight off after Voldemort's death. He was the one who patiently showed her the ropes when she was a rookie, who told her not to when she, at one point, wanted to quit.

"Like the new look?" he asked, showing off his hair.

"The dreadlocks are definitely cool," she complimented, "How's Luna?"

A sparkle in Dean's eyes came up at the mention of his girlfriend's name. After the battle of Hogwarts, while everyone was picking up the pieces, Dean and Luna Lovegood picked up each other. That year was difficult for a lot of people and many found comfort and solace in the company of those who experienced the horrors with them, her included. Luna's father had survived his Azkaban incarceration and was released after the Death Eaters fell but the strain of it all was too much and he passed away within months of being reunited with Luna. Dean was there to help her through.

"She's okay," he said quietly with a smile on his face, as if remembering some good memory about their Ravenclaw schoolmate. "She finally sold the Quibbler and is training with the naturalist, Newt Scamander. She loves it. She loves the travelling and I think most of all she enjoys discovering new things."

"Has she found the Crumple-Horned Snorkack yet?"

Dean smiled and shook his head. Hermione was teasing him for during one very long night while on a stake out he confessed to Hermione that he loved Luna so much he would willingly help her find the creature to the ends of the earth even if he was certain the bloody thing did not exist.

"She's still looking," Dean replied with a wistful look she had to ask.

"What's wrong?"

"We're thinking about taking a break."

F…Filter on. No way. First Harry and Ginny, now them? She wasn't superstitious but of the couples who hooked up during those tumultuous times there were not many left intact. Cursed maybe. Doomed to fail by some Dark Magic. Fff…fudge…the Hag's penchant for baseless and unsupported sweeping theories had rubbed off on her more than she liked.

Note to self - must try to maintain objectivity in all matters.

That off hand train of thought was more like something Luna would come up with. But it was hard to believe that Luna came up with the idea to have a 'break'. And the way Dean was talking about Luna earlier, there was a definite disconnect there.

"What do you mean 'we'?"

"Fine, I've been thinking."

"Spill it, Dean."

"I want to marry her."

"Okay…I've been away from social contact for eight months so I'm a bit slow here. Why do you want a break if you want to marry her?"

"I just can't see it working."

Hermione understood what he meant. Luna was off chasing unknowns and he was here chasing crooks. The dreaded LDR.

"Don't you think your conclusion is a bit premature?"

She felt duty-bound to say something positive and that was the best she could come up with.

"I've seen it happen too many times. Long distance relationships don't work," Dean reasoned, "Hell, I've seen it with you."

Of course, her vast experience on the matter had to be drawn upon at every opportune moment.

"I wouldn't compare me and Ron to you and Luna."

Really.

"Why not?"

"Must you ask? Let me see. Ron and I broke up many, many times before we put the final nail on that coffin as I left for training. We fought a lot, bickered a lot, and were on each other's nerves a lot. It's not the same."

That and Ron's eyes never glistened at the mention of my name. They were usually annoyed or afraid. Or both.

"Okay. Harry and Ginny then."

"Bad example. Harry and Ginny survived an LDR," she replied, referring to the fact that while they had difficulties when Harry went and trained with the Hag for six months they pulled through, "And if you count that year we were hiding from the Death Eaters trying to find a way to kill Voldemort they survived two LDRs."

"So why did they break up?"

The common speculation of those who were privy to the Harry-Ginny break-up was that it was because of Ginny's upcoming employment as Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. That was hogwash. Ginny shared with her last night the real reason she broke up with Harry and it wasn't for anyone else's consumption, not even her work partner who she trusted with her life.

Which brought up the other thing the Hag taught her how to do well and without remorse: lying.

You want to work at the Ministry and survive? You must learn to lie and lie with zest and creativity, not just when you have to. No remorse. Remorse ruins ingenuity.

But isn't that wrong? Isn't that unethical?

Foolish child. You are in the wrong business then. You must quit right away. You are wasting your life. Go into Healing or take up a lost cause. But no, you are an ambitious one. You want to change the world in a big way. Ah...silence...I must be right. Well for that you have to learn to lie even when you don't have to. I really don't understand what the big deal is. You’ve lied before. You lied when you were in school, when it suited you, to save your friends’ lives. And you've lied to yourself many times.

What? I’ve never lied to myself!

About this boy, this man who draws you like no other. The man who makes your insides go…what is the word in common use by youth today…squee? The one who has no interest in you so you tell yourself you’re interested in another.

That's not true and even if it were it's none of your fucking business.

See? There. That lie. That wasn't too hard was it? And that well delivered swear word deserves a reward. Ten extra wand minutes today.

Fff...fuzz…

Dean thankfully interrupted the unsavoury memory.

"Harry said it was because she was moving to Holyhead," he said.

Harry, you liar. The Hag would be so proud.

"Maybe. Who really knows," it was time for her two cents worth of intervention and some timely conversation redirection, "I think you should talk to Luna about it. She may think of some solution you haven't. Your worries may be baseless."

That seemed to buoy Dean's spirits. If only she was around to talk sense into Ginny before she broke up with Harry. Their break-up was really over some stupid thing and now it seemed it was too late to retract that decision, which was even more stupid.

"So, you probably heard Ron's moved on."

"Yeah."

Okay, so it stings a bit. Be happy for him. And wish the other woman the best of luck. Maybe send a card…my condolences…

"And Harry has started dating again."

She could tell where this was going.

"Uh-huh."

"And you?"

She leaned over and said to her partner, "Look into my eyes."

Dean humoured her.

"Do you see any notion of a glint or a sign of a twinkle?"

"Nope. But aren't you bothered by that eyelash poking your eye?"

"There's your answer. And no, I'm not going out with that friend you have in mind, whoever he is."

Dean looked guilty. A mile away and she was glad she had not lost her touch.

"Why not?"

"I need the focus in my career so I'm taking myself off the market for a bit."

"Yeah right," he heard this before, and of course before what usually happened was she and Ron made up, and there was no chance of that happening now.

No chance in hell.

"And besides, I'm not interested in going out with men you know."

"You don't even know who it is yet," her partner protested.

"But I already know all the available men you know and I'm telling you I'm not interested."

"Fine. Don't you come running to me when you need a date for some Ministry function."

Drat. Note to self…may need to repair that bridge later.

As their food arrived, something familiar caught her eye and she turned towards the group of customers at the cooking table in the far corner of the restaurant.

"Dean, that case about the undervalued heirlooms, is that still active?"

"Yup," Dean spoke through a mouthful, "Got another complaint about it just the other week. There's like fifty-five plaintiffs on it already."

"And we haven't moved in because?"

"Legal's sitting on it pending validation of the complaint by a qualified magical heirloom appraiser," Dean stopped munching on the side salad and asked, "Why?"

She motioned over to the party she had noticed.

"Do you think they're clients?" Dean asked.

"Maybe," she replied, "There's only one way to find out."

"I love crashing parties," Dean said, taking his plate of food with him.

She took hers too and motioned to their server that they were moving over to the cooking table which by happy coincidence had two empty seats. In their years of working together they developed this understanding. When on the field they would trust each other's judgment completely and would only hold the other back if there was a major concern for safety. Any minor differences they would talk over after. Between her wand work and Dean's skill at using his brawn, there were few situations they could not handle.

Hermione got to the table first, pulled the chair back and purposely scraped its metal legs against the floor. All eyes were on her.

"Sorry," she apologized, darn...the Hag trained her well, "Mr. Burkes. This is such a surprise. I didn't know you knew of this place. Wonderful food, don't you think?"

Caractakus Burkes Sr. part owner and prospector for the Magical artefact business Borgin and Burkes, replied nervously, "Miss Granger. Ah, yes. Good place. Mr. Thomas."

"Mr. Burkes," Dean answered, "You have guests, nice. Clients?"

There was an uneasiness in the party of five. Two couples flanked the grayed out wizard. One man had a black beard and a Fedora hat and beside him sat a pale blond who didn't take her sunglasses off.

The other couple seemed more 'normal'. The woman had straight black hair and wore a lime green dress that reflected off her eyes. Her partner had sandy brown hair and an intense look about him that was unnerving. It was in sharp contrast to his boyish movie heartthrob looks but was in keeping with the dismissive and cutting tone of his remarks.

"Perhaps you should find another table. This party is private."

"So sorry. Don't mind us," Hermione insisted, instantly judging 'cute guy' was a 'bad guy', "We won't interrupt. Promise."

The Asian cook, whose name on the tag said 'Takeshi', put raw bloody steak onto the blond woman's plate next to untouched vegetables and fried rice and tried to get them to leave too, "I don't have your orders here and I'm almost done. If you have a seat at the other table over there, Ichiro is just about to start."

"No worries mate," Dean told the cook to back off, "We have food. We're just here to watch you create a meal."

"We should reschedule this meeting for another time," Fedora man said to Burkes who replied in the affirmative.

It was obvious they had broken up some illegal congregation.

"Please. We'd really rather have this done and over with," cute snarky guy stood up and leaned toward Fedora man.

"Don't leave on account of us," Dean reiterated but as he glanced at Fedora man he did a double take and the latter immediately reached into his pocket.

"Wand!" Dean screamed and with sheer brute force lifted the entire table up and forced it off flying towards Burkes' party.

The events that followed happened quickly.

Boom!

Hermione closed her eyes reflexively as the table between them and their foes disintegrated into a million pieces, blown off by a curse from the man with the hat. Dean pulled her back with him and they took cover behind the adjacent cooking table, wands drawn out.

Crack! Crack! Pop! Pop! Pop!

"We've got company," Dean stated the obvious as she instantly deployed several scout mirrors throughout the room.

"Who is he?" she asked while she counted; six, seven, eight, shit…more coming around and surrounding them.

"Morpheus Gaunt. Heard of him?" Dean put his phone away, giving up trying to send word to the Ministry that they needed back up.

"Should I have?"

"He's scum. We'll chat later."

They cowered as a blast hit the ceramic wall beside them and pulverized it.

"Kill them," she overheard someone say before the unmistakable sound of Disapparition.

Over the intermittent attacks she could hear fighting on the other side but couldn't see who. An ally? They were both watching the mirrors when a series of powerful hexes forced them to move up and behind another table. A stove exploded behind them. That should attract attention but judging from the heat they were getting they either needed to face it or get out now. Dean gave her the look. He did not know the meaning of retreat.

"On three," Dean mouthed, she nodded.

Her heart pounded hard against her chest. Maybe she should have mentioned to him that in her eight months of training she had not seen much combat, real or otherwise.

It's kind of too late now. Note to self - must regain reasonable organizational skills.

She watched Dean count.

One, two, three…

They swiftly moved in opposite directions simultaneously and she threw the place into darkness.

Stupefy!

Reducto!

Stupefy!

Geminio!

Hermione hit all four targets, re-acquiring each at wand flashpoint. Dean had done the same. They rendered a majority of their foes incapable of fighting back but there were still others. She felt movement behind her and turned in time to disarm her attacker but a hand grabbed her hair from the side and dragged her back as the other took her wand away.

Your wand is merely a weapon. Without it, be your weapon.

She pushed her unwary and unprepared enemy backwards with all her might using hers and her opponent's momentum until she heard him grunt against a hard hot surface. But the bad guy did not let go. She fumbled around, found and turned the stove knob full blast and felt the heat rise up. As chicken and fish started to burn, she stomped hard on his toes and the startling pain caused the man's grip to loosen. Clasping his arm tight, she twisted it behind his back and used the impetus of the long sweeping motion to slam his face onto the hot plate.

Sssssst…

"Argh!!!"

Inflicting physical pain on the enemy is a must to survive. Magic can fix anything except death.

There were more bad guys on the way and Hermione for a split second wondered when back-up was coming. She was concerned that she couldn't find Dean. As smoke started to fill the room out of the corner of her eye she saw the wizard with her wand charging hard. Without another thought, she grabbed a handful of chopsticks under the stove counter and after a minor wandless sharpening spell, sent them airmail towards her opponent and hit her mark.

It was then when a red beam of light caught her off guard, nicked her on the shoulder and sent her sideways against the wall. Picking herself up as quickly as she could, she found herself in the middle of a group of wizards, all with wands pointed at her. Another hex made her crash on the floor. This wouldn’t be the first time she was in a bind like this. Her partner always came through.

Anytime now…

Two whiffs cut through the air and two of her enemies fell on the floor, both clutching chef's knives embedded in their chests. The others swung toward the direction of the flying objects and began firing indiscriminately.

The timely distraction gave her the opportunity to summon her wand. She easily got rid of two of the three, the last opponent falling to another knife attack. There was silence save for the crackling of the flames now contained at one of the tables.

"Dean!" she called out.

"I'm okay," he replied from the other side of the fire and a relief washed over her.

But someone was approaching from within the smoky haze opposite from where Dean's voice came from. She held her arm up, ready to curse.

"Put your wand down, will you? Your first day back and you've caused trouble with it already."

That familiar voice; teasing and playful. She did as she was told and then ran towards the man with messy black hair and green eyes who had his arms outstretched, quite prepared to receive a bone crushing hug.

"Harry!"

He hugged her back. She didn't know when exactly but he finally seemed to have learned to do so after all these years. They were both grinning from ear to ear.

"Welcome home, Hermione. Miss me much?"

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know I’ve injected more characters. The Hag, Gaunt and if you can guess the other one (whose name wasn’t mentioned but we’ve already seen in Hermione’s future) brownie points for you. Harry was actually in the restaurant before Hermione and Dean arrived (will expound at some point but you can probably guess). Any thoughts on Dean being Hermione's partner?

At the end of DH I kind of wondered about Dean and Luna and the experiences they shared during that time, whether it would draw them together. If someone wants to write that fic or has written that fic please let me know. It would be interesting to read.

Here are some timelines for this chapter as Serious B requested:

The first part is in the present (2021)- kind of a parallel universe where Hermione finds herself in. In real life she is unconscious in some ‘archaic hospital’ and Jessie is trying to get her back.

The second part happened in 2003, the day after Hermione comes back from 8 months of training and is the continuation of Jessie's flashback of when they first met. Nobody is married yet, and as Hermione found out the night before, Ginny and Harry broke up 2 months ago. Ginny is about to leave for Holyhead to be the Harpies Chaser. Hermione and Ron split up before she left for training.

Not to give the plot away – here’s more.

Mid 1998 – Voldemort dead, Harry and Dean join the Auror Office; Hermione works in the DRCMC. Ron helps George at the Store.

1999 - Ron becomes an Auror.

2000 – Hermione joins Harry and Ron.

Around April/May 2002 – Hermione starts training with the Hag – Harry trained before her.

Jan 2003 - see above

????

2005 – James is born

2006 – Al and Rosie are born

2008 – Lily and Hugo are born

September 2017 – DH Epilogue; The Sacrifice – Hermione leaves London with Hugo.

September 2021 – The Present

11. Behind the Scenes

A/N. Have to dispense with some mystery requirements so the story will make sense. We’re back in the present. Harry, Ted, Jessie, Warren, an HHr flashback, and a couple of old friends from Hogwarts.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 11 - Behind the Scenes

2021 September 15

Ted nervously paced the anteroom to the Head Auror's office, wringing in his hands tightly rolled up parchments. He left a message for the Chief to call him and while typically he was a patient man, it was almost time for the big meeting and he didn't want the Chief blindsided. He figured Fletcher's revelation about Burkes Jr. was an important piece of information. There was that and what he found out after.

Crash!

He swore as he accidentally knocked over the magazine stand and instantly got a glare from Ms. Gennaro.

"Sorry,” he quickly apologized for his clumsiness.

As he hurriedly tidied up the mess he made he heard a door swing open. He turned and stood up just in time to see a ruffled Minister for Magic chased out of the office by the Head Auror's intense stare. Something was horribly wrong with this picture.

"Minister," Ted greeted but the generally affable leader did not respond and seemed absentmindedly dabbing a handkerchief on his sweaty forehead.

"Mr. Potter will see you now," Ms. Gennaro announced.

He thanked Harry's assistant and went in. Was it just him or was it much hotter in there than in the waiting room?

"You have something?" Harry asked, the frown on his face still present.

Ted closed the door and told Harry what Fletcher told him.

"Burkes was a member of the POTH?" Harry repeated. "POTH?"

"Yes, POTH," he replied, disappointed that Harry didn't know what it meant either.

"Did you run it?"

Of course he did. He took out his quik notes and started from the top.

"Perth Organization for Trolls and Hags, Proponents for the Orderly Trading of Housebunnies, Purveyors of Tricks for Halloween, Pride of the Hill..."

"Wait," Harry interrupted impatiently, "Dung said Hermione founded it. Do you have anything that's even remotely possible?"

"No. Not really. But I found something else," Ted continued, "Burkes' historic timetable showed many appointments for POTH. The first entry was more than fifteen years ago and he wrote down 'Phil the Prophet Elf' next to one of them."

Ted had Harry's full and undivided attention just as the younger Auror predicted. He carried on.

"So, with his next of kin's permission, I searched Phil's belongings for anything about the POTH. There was nothing. Phil didn't keep an appointment book."

"What about Grawp?"

He was getting to that.

"Grawp did keep records, not as remote as Burkes, just over the last ten years. No mention of POTH but..."

Teddy handed Harry the documents he had been holding. The Head Auror's response was a mix of puzzlement and amusement. Okay, so maybe he was used to receiving not-so-crumpled and tidier documentation.

"Sorry," Ted blushed.

Harry unraveled the wrung up parchments as Ted waited in anticipation. Harry's eyes flew over the two pieces of paper.

"The first page has all the dates and times of POTH meetings Burkes noted down on his diary. That second page is a copy of Grawp's entries in his book, the ones that he had for those dates and times. While Burkes was in POTH meetings, Grawp was with 'Hermy'. Wasn't that how he used to call Hermione? I don't think it's a coincidence. Burkes was POTH, Phil was POTH and Grawp was POTH. It's Malvado and he's eliminating members of the POTH one after the other.

"This is it. You've found the link I was looking for," Harry patted him elatedly on the back. "Great job!"

"But I still can't figure out Borgin. He hired Montague and Bole to steal and Montague swears Borgin was working for someone else. But who and why? And we still can't prove that the robberies and the murders are connected. I just have a feeling it is."

Harry put him out of some of his misery.

"This morning I got word from Forensics that Borgin, Phil and Grawp were murdered by the same two wands that were used on Burkes. I can't tell you how right now but the robberies have something to do with the murders. And you're right. Malvado is behind the killings," Harry handed him the parchment with the Malvado symbol that Jessie saw on the wrists of the killers. Harry began to pace the length of his office then after some time turned to him with a question, "Have you told anyone else about this?"

"No."

"Is this all the documentation? No copies?"

"No copies," he confirmed.

"Good, let's keep this between us for now. I need you to do something for me."

"Anything."

His boss was going through the stuff so fast he couldn't even stop to think what it all meant.

"We have records of all known associates of Burkes' and probably Hermione's. We need Grawp's and Phil's."

"What am I looking for?"

"More names. Names of people they all knew in common and look in places you would not normally look. Dung said there were seven POTH members. We need the other three. If they're still alive we have to find them before Malvado does," Harry explained.

"Why do you think Malvado is after them?"

"I don't know but if we find one of them that would be the first question I would ask."

That and what in the name of Merlin did POTH stand for.

Ted looked up the clock. It was five to seven.

"What about the meeting? Shouldn't I be there?" he asked, not wanting to miss out on anything.

Harry was calling someone on his personal phone but looked up, must have sensed the reason for his concern and reassured him, "You don't need to be there. You already know more than the rest of the team will after that meeting is over."

He nodded but wondered what exactly the Head Auror meant by that. Harry waited for an answer, pacing again as he did, until finally someone picked up.

"Jessie, it's Harry. Where are you?"

The CFO was usually fifteen minutes early for all meetings.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Her reply seemed to have thrown off Harry somewhat but the Head Auror quickly recovered.

"I need a favour…that report on the wands and the murders that your office gave me this morning…I need you to sit on it."

Whoa! Can he do that? Can she do that? Did that just happen? There was a long pause as Jessie Hewitt's voice spilled off of Harry's receiver. He could not make out the words.

"As long as you can, at least twenty four hours…thanks."

Geez! Ted was a rookie and this was the first time he had seen Harry this way. His pulse was bounding erratically and he was anxious and excited at the same time. So this was how it was outside of the trenches. Then Harry continued in a relatively deflated tone.

"About Hermione. Did you find anything else?"

There was another pause.

"No, I didn't mean to rush you. The family wants…um…to make funeral arrangements…okay…thanks again."

The Head Auror hung up and got rid of the parchments connecting the murders and the robberies to Malvado.

"Come over to the Pitch at 8. We'll talk."

His godfather had the look of a man who was on a mission. Feeling that he was being dismissed, Ted left and headed straight to his cubicle knowing he had a lot of digging to do. He glanced over on the plate that was beside the Head Auror's office door. H. Potter.

POTH…Pot H…no…definitely a coincidence.

XXXXXXXXXX

Jessie had just finished a round of diagnostics on Hermione under Warren's annoyingly watchful eye. From Warren's account of the events leading up to Hermione's injury and the physical findings Jessie had a working diagnosis. The only problem was Transfigurus Abruptus Coma was a rare condition and, aside from one-of case studies which to her had iffy conclusions, there was no literature on how to manage it properly.

"It's rare," she said to him after she explained

"Understandably so," Warren replied. "I wouldn't think many have ever been caught in the midst of Transfiguring at the same time the Immobulus is being cast."

And her body had traces of other spells hitting her in and around the time, one of which was the AK. She theorized that the Immobulus had slowed down the spell propagation and mitigated the unwanted effects. What she couldn't tell was whether or not those effects had completely stopped or were merely suspended in time and the reason she was not waking up.

Warren second guessed himself, "She would have been fine on her own. I probably shouldn't have done what I did."

"You were trying to help. So, how did you switch the bodies and fooled me and Malvado into thinking it was her?" she asked Warren, trying to sound curious instead of suspicious. "From what you're telling me, you had a split second to do it."

"Sorry. A magician never reveals how he does his tricks."

This was typical Warren Gates. One minute he was okay, next minute he was back into being an ass. It was curious that for an attack that was supposedly unexpected, the switch was done seamlessly as if it had been rehearsed or planned before. Why did he have handy a dead body who was a clone of Hermione's? And if he was indeed in the vicinity of the attack to even cast the Immobulus, how come he did not confront Malvado?

She hated it when she started thinking like an Auror and she would have gone back to London already if one, she knew where she was now so she could come back with someone else and two, she wasn't sure in her gut that Warren would only hide Hermione more because of his paranoia. And the option of trying to leave with Hermione was a non-starter. In Hermione's condition, she wouldn't survive a side-along Apparition.

"Stop fucking with me, Warren."

"I'm not. You're not my type," the man replied smugly, infuriating her more, "Tell you what. If you get her to wake up and talk normal again, I'll tell you how I did the switch. How's that for incentive?"

Jessie's skin crawled from frustration. Did he really think she needed more incentive than seeing Hermione well? Ugh! She disliked the man but had to work with him to get Hermione the best care possible. She had to tell him the truth and convince him.

"She needs a real Healer."

"You just told me no one out there knows how to treat this."

"But they would at least know where to start."

"You'll be better because you'll have ideas no one has tried before."

"Probably because my ideas wouldn't make sense! Warren, are you even listening? I'm not a Healer! I can't do this! I could do more harm than good!"

"Or you may save her life! At least try! We can't risk her exposure until she can use a wand to defend herself!"

Her phone was ringing in Warren's pocket and that sufficiently broke the impasse. Warren took it out and looked at the caller ID.

"It's Harry," Warren said to her, handing the phone over. He was probably calling about the meeting she wasn't going to make. She reached out to get the phone but Warren held on to it, instructing her, "Not yet."

She stared hard at him, defiant and daring.

Warren threatened, "Don't do something that will make me curse you. Just think. The Head Auror is busy chasing after her killers and that's what he should be doing. If you tell him she's alive, he will be here watching you as I have been and waiting until she wakes up. He'll be useless. This is the last place you want him to be at."

She hated it that he actually had a point. But she'd rather have Harry here to talk some sense into the git. Harry would see her side of things, get Hermione into St. Mungo's and would have no problem dealing with the threat of Malvado coming after her. Jessie snatched the phone angrily and answered.

"Hullo…I…um…at a hospital. My sister's really sick and I don't think I can make that meeting."

She wondered if Harry would get the message. Probably not. Neither he nor Warren would know that she didn't have a sister. She never talked about her personal life.

"A favour?"

Well, why not. Maybe if she did him one he wouldn't be so pissed once he found out she was dim-witted enough to go with Warren without telling someone. Harry was asking about the Forensics report.

"What about it?"

What?! Did he just say...

"You want me to what?!" she had to turn away from Warren, "No, don't answer that, I heard you the first time! Twitching Thestrals Harry what the hell is going on? Wait, don't tell me, it's long, convoluted and something we shouldn't discuss on the phone while I'm with my sister. But really?! You've never done this before!"

Breathe…calm down…

Jessie was worried Warren would pick up on what the conversation was about but she could barely contain her reaction. Although she was sure Warren was looking after Hermione's best interests, she wasn't thick that she would let him eavesdrop on Ministry inside information.

The thing was she trusted that Harry had a good reason for leaning on her office to kowtow to his. Well, he didn't really lean. He asked properly.

"How long do you need?"

Sitting on a report for any amount of time was gross obstruction of justice. Hmm...she was already endangering a human life, so relatively speaking...what the heck. Twenty four was doable but beyond that would be a stretch.

"I'll try my best."

About Hermione. Did you find anything else?

You have no idea...

Warren was watching her like a hawk.

"I'm not finished with her and I don't appreciate being rushed…I haven't released the body. The family can't have a funeral without a body, can they?!"

Jessie called her deputy telling him she was reviewing the evidence and not to commit to the prelims at the meeting. Then she hung up pissed. They were making funeral arrangements? Those poor kids. Hermione would never forgive her if she let Rosie and Hugo mourn unnecessarily. She had to put an end to Warren's nonsense.

The Ex-Auror promptly took her phone back. Between Harry, Hermione and Warren she must have done something really wrong in a previous life to deserve being in the middle of all of this.

"Where were we?" she snarled at him.

"You were going to give it a shot."

"I'm not killing her. Let's go to Plan B."

"There's no Plan B. Why don't you just do as I ask?"

Did she really have to answer that? She gave him a 'duh' look.

"You don't trust me."

"I don't but that has nothing to do with this. She needs a Healer," she was repeating herself like a broken record.

"Okay I tried nice. I'm really sorry but you're forcing me to do this."

He had his wand out.

"You wouldn't dare!"

Jessie barely spoke the words when she felt an intrusion into her sub consciousness.

"Get out of my head, you bastard!" she tried to fight him off mentally.

"Fix her up, please," Warren's cool persuasive voice ordered her from somewhere within.

Jessie felt herself walk closer to Hermione's bed, her protests unheard by the rest of her body. Warren had control.

"Stop it!"

The words never reached her lips and her physical self carried on as Warren commanded.

"Finite Incantatem!"

She had to try but nothing happened. It couldn't be that simple. Warren was a veteran Auror and his command of the illegal Superius curse was excellent.

His voice filled her head again, "You're not leaving until she's awake or dead. Do you want to help or would you rather just watch?"

Jessie was outraged. If only she had half the wand skills Hermione had she would curse the git to hell and back.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry was back at the Pitch before 8 am. The meeting went just as he thought it would. Without the evidence from Forensics and the connection with the POTH that Ted dug up, it ended sooner. But while he did not want the official investigation to touch on Hermione's, Malvado's and the Minister's involvement for the time being, he had his Aurors indirectly working on the important aspects of the case, among them, finding out who and why someone bothered to plant Borgin's dead body into a crime scene.

Impeding the discussion without being obvious was difficult. It was the first time he had done such a thing but after speaking with the Minister unofficially, it was clear that there was a need to keep a lid on many aspects of the case and to be cautious about who to trust.

In his five years as Head Auror this was the most crucial decision he had made and it gave him renewed appreciation of what his predecessors had gone through. The Minister told him in no uncertain terms that exposing the entire truth, while righteous, was counterproductive. Ministers of Magic and other top officials since Voldemort's death more than twenty years ago had been hiding the existence of the Elder Wand and the Hallows for good reason. The Hallows needed to stay mythical. Besides, the fact that the Ministry did not have possession of any one of them would throw the public into panic.

As for the Minister's involvement in the robberies, Leo had already admitted to it. Harry did not trust him one iota but hanging him out to dry right now was not in anyone's best interest. It would be a major disruption, one that he didn't need. They had a murderer to catch halfway across the globe. That fish was a bigger one to fry.

POTH…

Harry had no doubt that Hermione did put the group together. He had an inkling what the secret assembly was for and even guesses about what the acronym stood for.

Hermione had mentioned something about this a long time ago and that prompted another vivid memory of her from before they were married. Kitchen, knife, bloody tomatoes…

"He is just a piece of work! If one looked up 'git' in a reference book, his picture will be right next to it!"

Harry looked back at Hermione who was all flushed and upset, punctuating her remarks with airy motions of the knife she was using to cut tomatoes. They were in their cozy kitchen, backs to each other, making dinner. Tonight it was pasta.

"He is an Unspeakable," he replied as he gently blew on the half teaspoonful of near-ready red sauce (if she could only finish up with the tomatoes) and lifted it into her mouth to taste, "He's just curious."

She nodded in approval hastily before going off on another tirade about the Durmstrang graduate Maximus, or Max as the bloke preferred to be called. Harry instantly regretted not recognizing that he was just adding fuel to the fire.

"Curious?! He is insane! He wants to violate the Professor's tomb, take out the wand and experiment on it!" her voice broke in a few spots and she kept on brandishing the cutting instrument dangerously, "Insane!"

He had let her vent but maybe he should try and calm her down, put things in perspective.

"Kingsley and John shot his idea down right away."

"As any good Minister of Magic and Head Auror should have done," she retorted, knife banging against the cutting board, "I've said it before and I'll say it again. You can't trust them. Max and especially Leo, who may be seemingly personable on the outside but with layers of hidden agenda on the inside. The Unspeakables should have been kept out of the loop about the Hall - ow!"

She yelped and there was an instant clatter of metal on marble. He looked back and she was holding onto her left pointing finger with her right hand, blood trailing from the thinly cut slices of tomatoes.

"Fff...fuzz!"

Her unique swearing, while less frequent now than when she first got back from Hag training, had kind of grown on him.

"Here, let me."

He took over her injured hand, holding it for a bit under cold running water then pressing firmly against it with a napkin. She was a bleeder.

Hermione leaned against the counter behind as he stood in front of her holding her hand. She wasn't quite finished on the matter.

"We should Obliviate them."

He raised his brows and grinned, "Don't you think that's a bit overboard?"

She wasn't really serious, "Wishful thinking."

Hermione smiled back, calmer now.

"Do you know what we need to do?"

"You mean besides have dinner?"

He checked her wound and found it had stopped bleeding.

"We should bring the Order back together."

She meant the Order of the Phoenix. He summoned his wand, ran it over the thin scar with a quick healing spell and it disappeared. She thanked him.

"Why do you say that?" he asked, casually dropping his arms by her waist and she followed suit, both speaking seriously now.

"Just in case the Ministry messes something up," she replied.

"Hermione, we are part of the Ministry," he reminded her, "That's why we signed on. So we can change it from within. So that the Ministry will never screw up like it did in the past."

"Yes, I know and there are quite a few of us who are in it right now. But Kingsley and John won't be around forever and I can imagine Max or Leo or someone like them climbing up that political chain and being in charge. Who's going to tell them off then? Who's going to make sure they stay in line?"

She had a point but…

"If we have the system of checks and balances that Kingsley has been working on then that would be people like us who think they're gits. Maybe you should put a little faith in us."

"I guess I should," then she added philosophically, "But who's going to check up on us if we make mistakes?"

"I assume it would be someone else," he said, reaching over to the side, turning off the stove and pouring the tomato-less sauce over the awaiting pasta.

"I still think it would be a good idea to bring the Order back," she repeated, "Maybe not right now but sometime in the future and maybe name it something else."

"Like?"

She shrugged, seemingly just saying things as it came to mind, "I guess that really depends on what it will be for. Let's see…Keepers of Peace, Protagonists of Order…"

"The first one is not too bad. But the second one, I don't think so," he vetoed, laughing.

Hermione realized why and laughed too.

"What about Wizards and Witches Against the Dark?" he suggested.

"Beings Against the Dark," she corrected, with emphasis on 'Beings'.

"You should really have someone else name your organizations for you," he was teasing and she loved it when he did.

"Mr. Potter, what exactly do you mean by that?" she retorted feigning offense but Harry could already see the smirk creeping up on her lips.

It drove him crazy when she did that.

"Bad? Poo? Spew?"

"That's S-P-E-W!"

"I stand corrected," he chuckled, their close proximity and contact was evoking something within him that needed addressing. He looked down her cleavage with mischief in mind, making sure she was aware, "What about New Army to Kick Evil Dolts' arses?"

"Promising…"

Almost, but not quite. Let's see you not break a smile with this one.

"Or...Society for the Extermination, Extinction and Expunction of Dark Wizards and Witches. Sex with three Xs for short. You won't have a problem recruiting members with a name like that."

"I think you may have something there."

Then there it was, a smirk and then onto an easy smile that brought sparkles in her eyes. He loved the fact that he had that effect on her, that he made her happy. Overflowing with joy he leaned down and kissed her lips gently, pulling her closer in an embrace. She softened with his touch, the tense discussion forgotten in an instant. Her lips parted slightly under his, their warm breaths mingled and he felt her strain up against him. He sensed that she wanted to be closer.

He obliged with eagerness, his hands moving up under her blouse, his arms brushing against her hot smooth skin as he pulled her towards him even more, tipping his head slightly, deepening their kiss. Mmm...

"What about...dinner?" she managed to say against his mouth.

"Going...for some...antipasto..."

Her fingers found and tangled with his hair. Dazed and crazed with desire, he pulled her top off of her and kissed her harder. She moaned while she welcomed his tongue with hers in a slow warm caress. Lifting her up, her legs wrapped around his waist and she pressed herself up against his highly sensitive groin area. Merlin…she was undressing him…shirt…belt…button…paaants…at this rate they would never...uh...make it out of the ki-kitchen.

They never did make it out of the kitchen that night. The memories of her had been coming steadily since Hugo came last night, as if the shock of their son's revelation had unlocked some long sealed vault in the deep recesses of his mind. He fought off the tears that wanted to break out and tried to focus on something else.

POTH…his bet was on the H being Hallows…maybe Protectors of the Hallows or something like that…did they at one point acquire all three, stole the wand and the stone a long time ago, found his cloak which he thought had been lost forever, and were protecting them? Was that what Malvado was looking for? Why Burkes, Grawp and Phil? Why not him or Ron?

…and who else did you ask?

While it was his case to solve Harry wasn't arrogant to think that he could do it alone. It was good that Ron made it to the meeting in the morning for he was the guy Harry relied on the most to help with this. That is, if he could get past the fact that his ex-wife's son was his brother-in-law's.

Harry marched through and pulled the Potter library doors close, feeling the several pairs of expectant eyes upon him. He took his place in front of the huge oak desk, leaning on it as he appraised the group of Ministry wizards and witches he had chosen to bring together and trust.

The seats had been arranged in a semi-circular pattern atop a rectangular rug of Gryffindor colors but most remained standing. Starting from his right: Padma Patil-Boot, a schoolmate and now Senior Unspeakable with the Ministry with whom he had worked with on many cases in the past; Ernie Macmillan, also in his year at Hogwarts, one of the top officers in the Magical Law Enforcement Squad; George Bones, Lead Auror for the East quadrant, a relative of a classmate and of a former MLE Head; Ted and Ron. He would have invited Jessie too but she was with an ill sister. He would fill her in later.

This would be the core group. It was quite possible, highly likely, that it could grow over the next few days.

"Thank you all for coming," he said, "You were all at the meeting earlier. I know some of you sensed something was amiss and I apologize for the charade but it was necessary. What I'm about to tell you is information that is highly sensitive in nature. I have chosen you because I have utmost confidence that you will keep this amongst yourselves and share in the burden of ensuring that it does not fall into the wrong hands. If you think you don't belong here I understand and you may leave now."

He looked into the eyes of each person before him and was pleased with what he saw. Not a muscle budged. They were all in.

Harry continued, "We have a situation."

XXXXXXXX

A/N. I know Warren wasn’t very nice. Still good?

Hope you enjoyed the HHr insert – it was kind of last minute and probably borne out of reading all the smut from the kiwimelon15 challenge - LOL!

The Ron-Harry thing almost made it here but the chapter’s now too long. It’ll be in the next.

12. Expected and Unexpected

A/N. For those who missed it and need it, I reposted Chapter 10 with this story’s timelines in the end.

Finally, the chapter with the Ron and Ginny conversations.

Just so I don’t lose any of you, the first part is again Hermione and Dean in some alternate dimension. I also have some fun with the kids.

Enjoy.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 12 – Expected and Unexpected

15 September 2021

"Bummer you and Harry didn't work out," Dean said to her as they swam up to the surface.

They had been talking for sometime underwater and it was a bit weird.

"Things eventually turned out okay. We both moved on," Hermione replied in earnest, "I have Rose and Hugo and he's got three wonderful kids with Ginny."

"Is he happy?"

She thought about it for a moment. Harry's happiness used to be a big part of her life and it just stunned her how out of touch she was about it. It wasn't that she didn't care anymore, she just didn't feel as responsible for it as she used to. It wasn't her place.

Is he happy? She assumed so. She hoped so. But having lived away from the Potters for the last four years she couldn't be sure.

"I suppose," she finally answered, having not heard otherwise.

"And you?"

Relatively...

"Yes," was her quick response.

She believed that she was. Overall there wasn't really anything for her to be unhappy about but maybe 'content' was a better word. Things could have certainly been worse.

"Good."

"What about you?" she was curious, "Are you happy?"

"Very. Thanks for asking."

"Was it hard at first?"

"You mean right after I died? A little."

She could understand. He was so young, his life ahead of him. He was about to get married to the woman he loved.

"It was so sudden."

"I did know about the occupational hazards when I became an Auror. Besides, if I had to do it again and had a choice, 'sudden' would be the way to go. We all have to die at some point in time."

"True," she concurred, then, anxious about her current state, asked, "Dean, am I...dead?"

"No you're not."

"Are you sure?"

"Believe me, if you were you'd know straight away. The Reaper would have told you. It's number one on his to-do list."

Hermione found that amusing and felt victorious in a way. Just then, she was distracted by a form clad in a hooded black robe, holding a scythe in his right hand and watching them from a distance.

She thought, Not yet. Please.

"Here we are," Dean announced and they broke out onto the calm surface of the water, the sun basking them with warm, soft rays, "Take care and good luck."

Even before she could thank Dean properly he was gone. Hermione kept herself afloat, turning to look around. She was in the middle of a very large lake, so large that not a shoreline was in sight.

Now what?

Just as she thought that a ripple of water nudged her from behind. A small rowboat was creeping up right beside her and man in colorful wizard robes was bending over the edge, extending his arm to her.

Hermione strained to see who her benefactor was but with the sun in her eyes it was just not possible. She reached up to take the offer and was pulled up without much of an effort. Warmth immediately encased her as her clothes dried up in an instant.

"Miss Granger. It's so nice to see you again," the wizard greeted.

Falling under the man's shadow, she gazed into his face and recognized the kind blue eyes of Professor Albus Dumbledore.

XXXXXXXXXX

The meeting was about to start.

Earlier, as he was looking for a place in the house to be by himself, Hugo heard someone come in through the Potter back entrance. It was Mr. MacMillan, one of his Mum's school friends who worked at the Ministry. Finding it unusual, he followed him unobtrusively and saw him slip into the Potter library, where several others were waiting, all with grim expressions on their faces. Something was up.

He ran back to Al's room and grabbed a few objects from his rucksack, coming back just in time to see his father go into the library and shut the door. Hugo quickly went to work. Placing a piece into his right ear, he felt the buzz as he turned it on.

The accompanying object, a transmitter disguised as a ladybug, was certainly small enough. With his wand he levitated it gently down towards the library doors hoping to slip it under the gap.

"If that's a Muggle device don't bother."

The voice made him jump. He lost control of the bug and it fell onto the floor, the amplified sound of the crash in his ear so deafening he had to take out the receiver the same time he whirled around to see who it was.

"Sorry," James apologized, whispering this time, maybe thinking it would compensate for the possible ear damage he just caused. "Dad has meetings in there all the time and sweeps it for eavesdropping contraptions and charms constantly, including Muggle."

Deflated, he summoned the bug and thought about how else to go about listening in.

"But..." James added as Hugo put them back in his pocket, "I may have another way."

"You shouldn’t get involved. I don't want to get you in trouble."

Hugo really didn't for different reasons.

James smiled, an impish flash in his eye, "We'll only get in trouble if we get caught. Come on."

His cousin...brother moved with the swiftness of the Gryffindor Quidditch Chaser that he was up the steps and into his room across from Al's. By the time Hugo caught up with him he was rummaging through his trunk tossing stuff behind him as he dug. Hugo had to duck a few times.

"What's going on?" Lily joined them.

All the ruckus must have caught Lily's attention.

"Er...nothing sis. Just showing Hughie some boy stuff. Run along now and play with those Muggle dolls of yours or something," her brother said dismissively, not paying her any attention.

Hugo had heard James say the same thing to Lily many times in the past even way after she stopped playing with Barbies. She always hated how her brothers treated her like this because she was younger and was a girl. Hugo glanced at Lily already sensing her furious reaction. Her face matched the color of her hair, her hands were on her waist and she looked like she was going to erupt.

"What are you guys doing?"

It was Al with Rosie by his side, interrupting just as Lily was about to give James an earful. When James didn't answer Rosie looked at him and must have read his mind.

"It's about the meeting in the library isn't it!" she exclaimed excitedly, never one to hide just how brilliant she was at figuring stuff out.

"You guys are crazy!" Al hissed.

"Dad's gonna kill you!" Lily pointed out to James.

"This isn't very smart, eavesdropping on the Head Auror," Rosie weighed in.

Great. Just great.

"Look, I just want to find out about my Mum," he said more to Lily and Al, knowing Rosie would understand.

Lily nodded, "What's the plan?"

"Ah! There you are!" James announced, finally finding what he was looking for.

"Extendable ears? That's what you have? That's not gonna work," Al said skeptically.

Hugo had to agree with Al. It was an old Weasleys’ Wizard wheeze. His father surely was smarter than that.

"Ye of little faith," James replied smugly, then assessed the next plan of action, "Since we're all here it'll be a matter of time before Mum seeks us out. Al, you distract her."

"Me? Why me?"

"Because you're her favorite and you'll be the least suspicious," his brother replied, "Just keep her away from the subcellar."

"How am I supposed to do that?"

Rosie suggested, "Tell her about your girl problem. Ask for advice. Parents love it when you do that."

Lily was shocked, "Al has a girl problem?!"

"I don't have a girl problem!" Al denied vehemently.

Rosie answered, "Precisely. Don't you think that's a problem?"

"Please, we don't have time for this," Hugo said desperately, "The meeting has already started."

Al left in haste, still blushing from Rosie's declaration. They went past the study where Al found Aunt Ginny by herself and started the awkward conversation. Two flights down they got to a part of the house Hugo was not familiar with.

"You two stand guard and warn us if you see or even hear Mum coming," James ordered, obviously having done this before.

Hugo followed James into the damp, dark room and he heard a switch flip. A bulb flickered a dull yellow light revealing a dusty small storage room that look like it hadn't seen anyone in years, except for the somewhat clean day bed at the corner. James headed that way, got on it and began unscrewing a vent covering from the ceiling.

"What is this room?" he asked standing beside him, looking up.

"Not sure. Kelly, my girlfriend, came to visit last summer and we kind of stumbled into it. There's old furniture, broken toys, Muggle contraptions..." James explained in a hushed voice as he handed Hugo the metal grate and introduced one end of the Extendable ears into the opening.

"Anyway, we were here for a while, um, experimenting, when we heard animated voices coming through the vent. We couldn't make out what they were talking about but this room is two stories down and from my estimation almost directly below the library," James talked as he peered into the ear and was seemingly maneuvering it through bends and angles, "This ear may look the same as the original but it's actually not. I do prototype test work for Uncle George. It's an enhanced version with directional cameras at the tip and covered with a stealth charm that hopefully still isn't on Dad's list."

True enough, they started hearing voices through the ear. Hugo patted James on the shoulder in appreciation as the older boy smiled. They listened in.

"We're talking about the Death Stick, the Wand of Destiny," Mr. Macmillan's voice came through. "This is huge. If word gets out that the wand exists everyone will want it. They'd want to study it, replicate it and own it. I can understand why you want this hushed up."

"But remember, the wand is just part of it. With possession of all three its followers believe that one becomes master of death," a woman replied.

James whispered answering the questioning look on his face, "Unspeakable Boots."

"What exactly does that mean?" another man asked.

"Auror Bones," his brother informed him.

The Unspeakable answered, "Whatever you want it to mean. It's a legend. Some take it literally, that being master Death will be at your beck and call, tell him what to do. Some say you can live as long as you want. No getting old, no getting sick, no dying until you say so. Something like the elixir of life that Nicolas Flamel and his wife drank for centuries. Possession of all three affords you invincibility. A Dark Wizard like Malvado using the most powerful wand in history and being invincible at the same time. Big problem. That is if the myth is true."

The Head Auror spoke, "Even if the myth isn't true the three objects do exist. And it is prudent to approach it as if it were."

"What exactly is it that you want us to do, Harry?"

It was Mr. Macmillan again.

"It's simple really. I need your help to catch Hermione's killer before anyone else figures out what this is about. We catch her killer, we solve the case, we neutralize the wand."

"And how do we find Malvado? The SAMP and the IMP have been looking for him for years."

"Gates. We find Gates, we find Malvado."

Hugo was about to move closer when, all of a sudden, the ear James had in his hand flew off pulling the rest of it from within the hole and out.

"Busted..." James murmured beside him, motioning to doorway, waving with a weak smile, "Hi, Mum."

A very angry Aunt Ginny was standing just inside the room, Weasley invention in her hand. Al, Lily and Rosie were behind her peeking from the hallway with apologetic faces.

"James Sirius Potter, you better not be doing what I think you're doing!"

For all his earlier confidence, Hugo heard the somewhat pale James gulp.

XXXXXXXXXX

The meeting adjourned an hour later with each of them taking assignments.

Padma was to look into the Unspeakable restricted files to see what the Department of Mysteries had on the Hallows. She was also going to send a feeler out to Dennis Creevey if he'd be interested in being their mole in the Head Unspeakable's Office. They needed to find out if the stone was indeed no longer in a DOM vault.

Ernie and George were going to find Warren while Ted would continue to work on the POTH members. He was reassigning Ron to the Central quadrant so he could keep an eye on Hank while the Deputy muddled through the case. They weren't sure how much Hank knew but suspected that he was too close to Leo and Max not to know more than he was letting on. After all, it was unlikely to be a coincidence that the robberies occurred as Harry went away for holidays and left Hank in charge. The Minister probably told him to back off.

For his part, Harry had some recruiting to do. He called Neville at Hogwarts and asked to meet with him and his wife Hannah at the Leaky Cauldron later that night, thinking the Professor might have ideas about the POTH. Seamus Finnigan was another friend who would be valuable to have on board. He had connections they didn't and he would also want the opportunity to be involved, particularly since he and Jessie were close friends with Hermione. Maybe his wife would be back from visiting her sister and she could join them then.

Ted and George left and Harry found himself alone with Ron in the library.

"You look like shit," his friend said to him. "Why don't you get some rest?"

"Later," he replied, his throat dry and his body anxious. "So, what do you think?"

"I think it's brilliant. Hermione would have said so herself," Ron said with a pang of sorrow in his voice, "I can't believe we're reliving the nightmare again. It used to be Horcruxes, now it's the Hallows. These evil gits don't let up."

"There'll always be evil gits, even long after we're gone," he answered, matching Ron's tone, "We have to destroy the wand this time, make sure it’s no longer a problem for someone in the future. We destroy the wand, we break the triangle."

"Yeah, but first we have to find the wizard who has the wand. We know Malvado won’t give it up without a fight. I'll talk to Hugo about Warren. He should know that he can't always get what he wants," Ron said firmly.

With Ron's mention of Hugo Harry had the opening and felt he had to do it now.

"Ron, listen. There's something else I have to tell you."

"What is it?"

He reached into his robes pocket and took out the letter Hermione wrote for Ron, remembering Hermione's request.

Please give Ginny and Ron my letters once you and Hugo have decided that it's time. With Ron, I prefer that he finds out from me. I insist that you have him read my note first before saying anything.

Ron never knew that he and Hermione had been lovers. The concept of them having more than a platonic friendship had been a sore point with Ron ever since Hogwarts so it was their mutual decision not to tell him. And Harry was certain Ron remained unaware for had Ron found out his friend would have surely confronted him about it already.

Harry tried to put himself in Ron's shoes. He asked himself how he would feel if Ginny told him one of the kids wasn't his. He would probably explode at her and at whoever it was who made her a cheater, doubly so if the bloke was someone he knew and trusted. So, Harry was prepared for a number of possible reactions; he was prepared to be hexed, punched, shouted and cursed at, maybe even to the point of being killed. The key was surviving that first ten minutes.

Had Hermione not specifically asked Harry would tell Ron himself. He felt a bit cowardly but respected Hermione’s wishes.

"She wanted you to have this," Harry handed the envelope to him.

Ron recognized Hermione's neat scribble on it and took it, somewhat confused about why the note would come from Harry. He slowly unfolded the parchment and Harry watched as his eyes darted hungrily over the lines. Ron’s face got redder with each word he finished, his knuckles whiter with each paragraph he read as he gripped the paper tighter. By the time Ron was done, and it was quite a lengthy letter, Harry could almost imagine fire coming out of his nose.

What followed next was unexpected. Ron took a big breath in, exhaled, gently folded up Hermione's letter and put it into his pocket. This was worrisome.

"Say something Ron."

Ron's face was still a heated mess and he was biting his lower lip so hard Harry was sure he would cut himself. For a moment Harry considered that either he got the wrong letter or Hermione didn't tell him.

Harry persisted, "What did she say?!"

Finally, with fury in his eyes and his finger wagging, Ron let it out, "Three days! She's given you three days! You better make a will! You better hide from me when your time is up!"

Ron wasn't making sense.

"What do you mean?!"

"We can't talk about it for three days! I can't kick your cheating ass for three days! Three fucking days!"

"I don't care! Let's talk about it now!"

"I can't believe you did that to Ginny! To my sis…"

Ron's words faded off and while Harry couldn't lip read because the man was talking too fast he was pretty sure there were quite a few curse words in there. The inability to convey his emotions frustrated him even more. He charged at Harry with everything that he had.

Instinctively, Harry braced himself from the blow but it never came. Ron softly bounced off from him, landing a few feet away and on the floor. It was as if there was invisible aircushion that formed around Ron as he attacked.

This was Hermione’s doing. Having been married to Ron, she guessed what his reaction would be. She must have cast a spell through the note.

The other Auror got back on his feet, huffing and puffing and glaring at Harry righteously.

"I can't believe she jinxed you!" Harry yelled.

"I should have known! She’s doing what she's always done! Protecting your sorry ass!"

Harry was as miffed at Hermione for it. It would have been better to deal with Ron without her intervening.

"Why don't you do the counter-curse?" Harry suggested.

"If you know it, be my guest! I would so like to kill you right now!"

A spark came off Ron's wand and backfired immediately, sending him off his feet and landing a ways from Harry.

Harry was quickly by his side helping him up, "Are you okay?"

"Get your hands off me!"

“I'm sorry," he said to Ron. "I didn't know Hugo was mine until last night. It happened a very long time ago…"

The red head held his hand up to Harry's face, "We'll talk about it in three days! No…first I'll beat the living daylights out of you then we'll talk, if you still can!"

Ron turned his back and stomped out of the library, leaving him alone. Harry slumped on the nearby seat, closed his eyes, thinking how surreal all this was.

You didn't have to do that. You shouldn't have done that.

Three days...he felt even sorrier for Ron now than he did before. Three days…that would be the day before her birthday...

Harry took the other letter from his pocket and thought it very likely that Hermione had done the same thing. He looked at the clock; her study. He got up with that destination in mind resolved that he wasn't going to make the same mistake.

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments before, Ginny was in her study, arms across her chest, listening to what her eldest son had to say about his unlawful act.

"Do you realize that you can be imprisoned for doing something like that, even if you're Harry Potter's son?”

"But Mum, Hughie wanted to know about Aunt Hermione," James tried to explain.

"That's right Aunt Ginny. I begged for his help," Hugo came to his rescue. "He didn't want to but I begged him."

"Hugo, you don't have to lie for James. He is quite capable of doing that by himself."

"But Mum..."

"Enough! You have absolutely no excuse. You're the older one, the one who should know better, not the one who instigates trouble. There is a reason why your Dad ensures his meetings are confidential and you treat the whole thing like it's one big prank. What if you compromised the investigation, endangered a life by what you did? Are you going to be responsible for that? You're almost of age James. You need to grow up!"

She paused, feeling she had said more than necessary.

"I'm sorry, Mum," James said to her, genuinely remorseful.

She nodded and gave him a half hug and a kiss on the head, "I'll have to tell your Dad. Now go on and help your brother and sister in the kitchen."

James left as he was told. Ginny hoped at some point James would indeed act more responsibly and set a better example.

She walked closer to Hugo who was looking down at his feet, shuffling them as he was likely expecting some reprimand. Her heart ached for Hermione's son.

Ginny lifted his chin up gently and said to him as he looked at her, "It must be very difficult, what you're feeling right now. I know you miss her; you want her back. You've been very brave and your Mum would have been very proud."

The boy was crying. Ginny took him in her arms and cried with him.

Hugo tried to explain himself too, sobbing in between, "I just want to know what happened...I want to make sure her killers rot in jail...I want to help put them there...I want to do it for her..."

"Hush now. I'll speak with your Dad. Maybe he can share some information with you. But you have to be patient. Some of these things take time."

Hugo nodded, disentangling himself from his godmother, and left the study still wiping tears off his face. She contemplated how and when to break this news to the Head Auror when not long after Hugo left, Harry came. He closed the door behind him, looking so tired.

"You should sleep."

She knew he hadn't for more than twenty four hours and the sleep he had been getting recently, at least since they left for the Bahamas, couldn’t be restful. Harry took his usual spot when he was in her study, leaning against her table to the right of her chair. She stood beside him.

"I have meetings with the SAMP and the IMP in an hour," he replied.

"Push them back," she suggested.

"I can't. We need information right away."

"Have Hank or Ron go."

"I have to be there."

"What are you doing?" she asked him pointedly.

"I'm trying to put the person responsible for her death behind bars. What does it look like I'm doing?" he snapped at her.

Ginny calmly replied, "You think you can do this from start to end without any rest? You're as impatient as Hugo. Perhaps I should tell Leila to schedule bedtime and meals into your timetable."

He knew she had a good point and changed his tone.

"I have to do this, Gin."

Just like Hugo...

"I know. But knowing her she would not have approved you doing it this way, especially when you're doing it for her."

She paused as Harry broke eye contact. He didn't want her to see what he felt and she didn’t insist. When it came to his feelings about Hermione she preferred it this way like he did.

"Hugo..."

"There's something you should know,” Harry interrupted, sounding like he was on some mission. What she had to tell him about the boys was clearly less important than this. He added, “I think it's better if you sat down for this."

Ginny’s heart skipped a beat. The last time Harry asked her to sit before telling her something she was deeply hurt and forever scarred by what he said.

“If it’s alright with you I’d rather stand.”

He nodded, looked at her and struggled with his words.

“I wish there was some other way. I’ve put you through so much already and I’m about to ask even more of you than what I have before. But I can understand if you’ve had enough.”

He stopped and she let his words sink in. He was apologizing in advance and as always he had no unreasonable expectations from her. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give even though as his wife, for better or worse, she was duty bound to give her all. Her ‘all’ had been tested thoroughly.

“Fourteen years ago, when Hermione and I…when we…”

Always seemingly having a problem with the word Ginny helped him out, “When you had the affair.”

“Yes. She got pregnant and she had a boy. I didn’t know until last night…Gin, it’s Hugo. Hugo is my son.”

His green eyes shimmered from the pool of tears that just now broke and cascaded down his face. In them she saw the anguish and helplessness that she expected to see. He had a son he didn’t know about who hated him and he was faced with the uncertainty of how the rest of his family would feel. On top of that, the one person he wanted to talk to about it was dead. She had wondered whether or not Hermione would ever tell him and she was relieved that Hermione finally did. She was relieved for Hugo and for Harry.

“You don’t need to worry about me,” she tried to reassure him, hopefully lessen the burden somewhat, “I know he’s your son. I was with her when he was born.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. ?

I probably will get flames for that last revelation but I thought it wouldn’t be too out of character for Hermione and Ginny to keep something like this from Harry (as in this story they both care about him deeply).

In a way I feel like Hermione protecting Harry – he got off easier than he probably deserves, particularly with Ron :)

Haven’t started the next chapter and am at a crossroad – will await your comments and hopefully your input before I decide direction. Is it time to put the present on hold and go back to the past? Do you want to know what Hermione wrote in the letters?

13. Woes of a Former Fangirl

A/N. No time - leaving for the cottage in an hour and am away for the next few days. I was overwhelmed and blown away by your reviews and I had to post this week because you were all so good.

Bips – just read yours this morning – will reply when I get back (ffnet ate up the one I composed) but you’ll find the first part interesting.

I apologize in advance if in the first scene I messed up Harry’s response to Ginny. You might need some visual earplugs.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 13 – Woes of A Former Fangirl

For a split second Harry thought and hoped he misheard but there was no denying what Ginny said.

"You were with her when he was born," he repeated, stalling the upsurge of ugly emotions that were clawing their way out.

"Yes," she answered, recognition of his unfavourable reaction dawning upon her, "I can't believe this. You're upset at me. You're actually upset at me."

He met her disbelief with his own.

"Hugo is thirteen years old! You knew he was my son and you didn't tell me! Don't you think I have a reason to be upset?!"

"She asked me not to tell you!"

"And it didn't occur to you to say no to her?!"

"She didn't want you to know!"

"And I guess you did but just forgot to mention it to me!" he said sarcastically.

"I told her your son would hate you but it wasn't my decision to make!"

"It may not have been but you decided to keep mum about it! What was in it for you?! What did you ask of her in return?!"

Her word not to take me back? he thought it but pulled it in time before he said it.

"It wasn't like that!"

"Then tell me what it was like because I can't begin to understand what would possess you to think I wouldn't be upset about this, that you would think I'd feel relieved that all this time you knew he was mine and never said a word!"

"Hugo was her son, not mine! She hid him from you, I didn't! If you want to be upset with someone you should be upset with her! But you're not because you can see her doing this for you and yet you can't even stop for a second to think about what I've gone through much less wonder if I was doing it for the same reason she was!"

They were toe to toe, Ginny matching his anger pound for pound until that last point which seemed to have broken their spirits. He had no reply to what she just said. They seldom had charged arguments like this and most of them were from a long time ago, before and earlier on in their marriage when they were much younger and still trying to define how things were going to be between them. There were ones about Hermione when Ginny still had much to say about her.

"I can't believe this," she repeated, throwing her arms up in the air in exasperation, her tone quieter but shaky and still miffed, "You had the affair, you got her pregnant and somehow it's my fault she chose not to tell you about it."

Ginny turned from him with tears burning in her brown eyes and walked a few paces away while he buried his face in his hands and ran his fingers through his hair. She had made her point and he felt even angrier at himself after. He had been so livid he did not think the thing through before lashing out at her.

She asked me not to tell you.

It would have taken a saint of a wife to not agree with Hermione. Ginny was not clueless. She had three young children at that time, one still in her arms, and was trying her best to salvage a marriage that was just rocked by infidelity. Hermione's proposal to hide Hugo was a break. It was really a no brainer. The alternative would have ruined her family beyond repair. And he could imagine her holding onto the secret, maybe not for him as she claimed, but for her and their children.

Harry looked back and found snippets of memories, Ginny telling him she needed time off from the kids to work or do errands, suggesting taking the kids over to Hermione's to play or inviting her, Rose and Hugo over. That one time Hugo fell off his toy broom and was brought to St. Mungo's she prodded him to stand in for Ron who was overseas and stay with Hermione and Hugo until their son was okay.

He thought those odd and at one point asked her why. She said she was just doing what their therapist, Dr. Hyde, had suggested, proving to him that she was over the incident, letting him know that she trusted him not to make the same mistake.

But he could see it differently now. Ginny never cared a hoot about what Dr. Hyde said. The whole thing was merely a convenient excuse. What it was really about was so his son could spend time with him and his siblings. It was so Hugo would have memories of his father as he was growing up and his father would have the same. Ginny, through the years, had done what she could so that today wouldn't be as bad as it could have been. And he just had to vent his frustration on her.

He walked over to where she was and said, "Look at me...please."

Her arms were folded across her chest, her jaw set and when she finally looked at him it was evident she was still quite pissed.

"I'm sorry. I'm a prick. I...I just lost it."

She nodded almost imperceptibly but he would take it.

Ginny said to him with a frown, "I know it's been difficult. Have you thought about what you're going to do?"

He was winging it.

"I have to fix this, Gin. I can't keep this a secret."

Harry tried to gauge what Ginny thought about it. He had learned through the years that with women, at least the two he had been most intimate with, it wasn't about what they said but how they said it. She uncrossed her arms and appeared relieved.

"I agree. He may not say it but Hugo needs you to set him free from having to live two identities. Have you told Ron?"

"He wasn't too pleased," he replied and told her about the exchange.

"I'll talk with him," she countered.

"And Rosie?"

"I suspect she already knows. I think that's where this acting out since the summer comes from."

It was then when Harry remembered the letter. He took it from his pocket and without preamble handed it to her.

Ginny took it, recognized her handwriting and stared at it briefly before setting it on her desk.

"Aren't you gonna open it?" Harry asked.

"Maybe later."

Despite appearances she wanted to read it right away. She just didn't want him around when she did.

"I want to tell kids first. They have to know before anyone else."

"I can be there if you want," she offered.

Harry hesitated, not expecting it. He just couldn't ask that of her. It wasn't because he was too proud but because it would yet again be another imposition. She must have read his mind.

"It's okay Harry. I want to be there unless you'd rather I'm not. The news would go over much better if I am."

He nodded, "Do you think they'll understand?"

"James maybe. I'm not so sure about Al and Lily. They might be sore at you for a while."

Harry accepted what could happen. He hoped 'a while' wouldn't be a very long time.

Ginny continued, "We probably should hold off telling anybody else until after the funeral. It will be a distraction."

It struck him how, in spite of everything, Ginny could think about Hermione's welfare. Admirable as they were, in a way her actions were quite unsettling. In their earlier argument, he suspected that what he had heard from her was just the tip of the iceberg, a mere glimpse of what was under the surface which she had been bottling up for a long time. It must have killed her to be in the same room with Hermione that day Hugo was born.

"Why were you there?"

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"When Hugo was born. Why were you with her?"

Ginny frowned and once again withdrew, "It was a long time ago, Harry and I'd really rather not talk about it."

He did not insist. She probably did not want to re live the memory. As much as he was curious he wasn't mean. Over the next few minutes they discussed the best way to gently break the news to their children.

It would not be easy but it was the right thing to do.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ron stormed out of the Potter house, slamming the door behind him.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable.

Needing more air, he stomped across the garden and into the huge backyard. He took a broom from the shed then, recognizing it was Harry's, broke it into a gazillion pieces. As that wasn't enough he grabbed the next one and demolished it too. He rode the third broom and kicked off the ground aiming straight up the sky.

Wind in his face he drove up as high and as fast as he could, as if trying to shake off what he just found out and leave it behind.

At some point the broom shook violently and jarred him back to reality. He eased up a bit and came back to earth a couple of hundred feet before stopping. Coasting mid air he didn't even feel the tears steadily coming down his face as he thought of his ex-wife and what she had done.

Maybe he was mistaken. Maybe he didn't read it right. Steadying himself, he took out the letter again.

Dear Ron,

If you're reading this then it must mean I'm unable to speak or I'm not around anymore. Let me start by saying that in the thirty years I've known you you've been a wonderful friend, a great father and the best ex-husband anyone could ever hope for. You will forever hold a special place in my heart.

Rose is a young woman now and you will have your hands full with her before she becomes of age. She's fiercely independent and determined to find her own identity. Love her as you always have and trust your instincts. But if that fails, don't hesitate to find help (and I mean don't).

That brings me to Hugo. I don't think I've thanked you enough for stepping in as his Dad even though you knew he wasn't yours. You didn't have to but you did it out of the goodness of your heart. I know you love Hugo as much as you love Rose and I want you to keep him in mind as you read the rest of this letter.

You asked me once who Hugo's real father was and accepted my answer that he was a married man with whom we had no future with. That was the truth. I never told his father at that time because it was rather complicated but at some point I had to let him know. He knows now and by giving you my letter, he has decided to let you know. Harry is Hugo's father.

Don't bother hexing or causing him bodily harm. I figured that you'd lose your temper as soon as you read this so the second you opened the envelope you activated a spell that will protect him from you. The charm also prevents you from discussing with anyone other than Ginny matters pertaining to Hugo's paternity. I've set it to wear off in three days and I'm hoping you'd be calmer by then.

I know you're cursing me to hell for jinxing you but I had to do this, not so much for Harry as I know you will immediately conclude, but for Hugo. The last thing Hugo needs right now is to see the two of you fighting and it will be over nothing.

What happened isn't between you and Harry. We were no longer us when Harry and I lost our moral bearings. And while I understand how instinctively as her older brother you'd want to avenge the pain we've put her through, Ginny has already forgiven Harry for it. She has also known about Hugo for a long time.

It will be difficult but all I ask is that you do what's best for Hugo.

Take care Ron and kiss the kids for me.

Love,

Hermione

His mind was a mess of emotions. Wanting to tear it and keep it at the same time, he ripped the letter apart and shoved it into a pocket. It made sense now. If he had paid more attention then he probably would have picked up that Ginny and Hermione started drifting apart right around the time Lily was born when she and Harry were having difficulties. He was going through a lengthy wizard divorce process with Hermione the same time he automatically thought the strain between Ginny and her was because of him.

Only it wasn't because of him. He felt his face burn again. When his Dad said before how lucky their family was that he shared a compartment with Harry Potter on their first train ride to Hogwarts he obviously did not foresee this. Even he, who supposedly knew him because they were…were best friends did not foresee this. He and Hermione were the last people he would ever think would commit such a sin of the flesh!

The thought riled him up even more. So much for that 'she's like a sister to me' speech, the fucking liar! And he got away with it too. No one else knew of it and Ginny stayed with him all this time.

Even that he could not believe. Ginny had more spunk than to let him walk all over her like that. It wasn't fair. There were a different set of rules and justice for him just because he was Harry fucking Potter!

Since Ginny seemed to have accommodated him he was not inclined to do the same. He would give the bastard what he deserved!

With regards to his ex, the fact that Hermione chose not to tell him was understandable and as much as he should have been he could not bring himself to be angry at her. No wonder she was so adamant about going through the separation process even though she was pregnant and had accepted his offer to give Hugo his name. He had hoped then that she would change her mind about him once more, that she would take him back as she had time and time again.

She's like a sister to me…

His teenage jealous fits about her and Harry were not so baseless after all. At least Hermione never lied to him as blatantly as the scumbag did. Okay. Fine. Hermione never had to because he was too yellow to actually ask her the question.

Merlin! Rosie. She would be devastated…wait…that was it! That was what all the crazy behaviour was about; an act for her Mum because of what her Mum did in the past and the reason why all of a sudden Rosie had taken an avulsion to being like her. She must have found out last summer.

When word leaks out it would spread like poison, ruin relationships and mar the family's reputation, all because at eleven he was stupid enough to share a compartment with the asswipe!

Hugo. Hermione's son. Harry's son. Hermione was right in that he cared about the kid. In his mind and heart Hugo would always be his.

The pieces of parchment seared through his pocket.

…do what's best for Hugo.

XXXXXXXXXX

After Harry left for the meetings he refused to postpone,Ginny finally found herself alone in her study. She picked up the envelope bearing her name scribbled across in Hermione's neat writing. Hermione had predictably left a letter, hopefully not another apology.

She unsealed, read it and wasn't disappointed.

Ginny,

No more lies and no more apologies. I appreciate what you’ve done for us over the years and I know you'll take good care of my boy. Thank you.

Hermione

P.S. He will need your help with Ron

He…Harry. It wouldn’t be her if she didn’t think about him. Ginny stopped, thinking about what Hermione wrote…no more apologies.

She remembered when she first suspected that Hermione cared about Harry more than just a friend. It was the night Hermione came back from training with the Hag. They had gone out to celebrate her Harpies appointment and it turned into something else. They were best friends, she had stupidly broken up with the man she loved two months before and Hermione was pointing out what an idiot she was.

“You have to talk to him,” Hermione said to her for the umpteenth time.

For the umpteenth time, she answered, “How do you talk to someone who doesn’t talk?”

“But Harry talks,” then Hermione turned to Jessie who was sitting beside her, “Right?”

Jessie confirmed over her 2nd glass of rum cola, “I’ve definitely heard him talk.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Not exactly,” Hermione replied, setting her almost finished screwdriver aside.

“He talks but not about important things,” she tried to explain, “And it’s not that he’s shallow or superficial, he just doesn’t open up to me.”

“Ginny…”

“And it’s not that I haven’t tried. I mean, I’ve already told him my frustration and he said he’d try but whenever we get to serious stuff he just clams up on me. And I don’t get that. Is it me? He shares stuff with you.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Hermione immediately denied.

“He told you what happened in the forest with Voldemort. He values your opinion about stuff at work...”

“But that’s different.”

“That’s the thing. He doesn’t even want to talk to me about work. It’s Hogwarts all over again. He’s treating me like his 16 year old girlfriend who’s too precious to taint with bad news or take with him to fight evil.”

“That’s because he cares about you.”

“I’m just a girl to him, someone who looks pretty enough to be seen in public with. I’m just someone he can come home to at the end the day, snog senseless and have amazing sex with.”

“I already told her she shouldn’t complain about that,” Jessie interjected and said to a passing waitress, “Can I get another rum cola please? And two more screwdrivers.”

“I wanted to be more for him but all he wanted was a shag-worthy girlfriend. So I had it and I broke up with him.”

“What exactly did you say to him?” Hermione asked.

“That we weren’t growing as a couple and that we could only do that if he would treat me more like an ‘emotional’ partner.”

“’Emotional’ partner?”

“As opposed to a physical one.”

“And what did he say?”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I told you he doesn’t like to talk. It was as if he was relieved I broke up with him.”

“You definitely read him wrong. That doesn’t sound like Harry,” Hermione was unconvinced.

“And when I heard his answer I had to walk away.”

“She cried for an entire week, moaning she wanted him back,” Jessie reported, her speech slurred and loud their approaching server probably heard.

“I did not. And it was more like 5 ½ days,” Ginny corrected as the waitress smiled at her while setting her drink down, “And the fact that he started dating that bimbo from Accounting before trying to patch things up with me just proves that he doesn’t love me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hermione tried to make her feel better, “Harry cares about you. He must have a perfectly good reason for all this.”

They both cast a sideways glance at Jessie who just set her head on the table.

“Will you stop defending him? You’re supposed to be on my side here,” Ginny reminded her, showing a bit of irritation.

“Sorry,” Hermione apologized, and then asked about her roommate, “Is she okay?’

Jessie was passed out and snoring softly. Ginny had seen Jessie do this before.

“Yeah. She will be in the morning.”

Hermione continued, “But you really should talk to him. Harry is Harry. You’re right, he’s not shallow but he’s not the type who wears his heart on a sleeve or mouths off about his every emotion or thought. And asking him to change by breaking up with him is the worse thing that you can do. He doesn’t like to be threatened.”

“So you’re telling me that I should just accept the fact that he won’t ever talk to me about the meaning of life or about details of what he went through with Voldemort or about those horrible nightmares he keeps waking up from in the middle of the night.”

“I don’t know. I just know that you shouldn’t have broken up with him because of that one thing. Harry is a great guy, you’re his first real girlfriend and he has a lot to learn about being in a relationship.”

“What would you do if you were me?”

“Make up with him. Give it another shot.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can. It’s easy. You just meet with him and tell him you want to try again. You can tell I have lots of experience with this sort of thing,” Hermione alluded to her on-again-off-again relationship with Ron which was currently off, “And I hear only good things about make-up sex.”

“Really, I can’t. Not even for the make-up sex. Then he’ll think I’m okay with it even if he doesn’t change. He won’t ever change and I’ll forever be just his fangirl sex thing.”

“Don’t you want him back?”

“Of course I want him back but I want him to make the first move,” she sighed a bit annoyed at the desperation in her voice. But this was Hermione she was talking to. She could be totally honest, “I want him to come back. If he cares about me why doesn’t he come back?”

“Don’t you see it? It’s the same on his end. If he comes back then you win and he's thinking you’ll think it’s going to be okay to threaten him the next time you want him to do something he doesn’t want to do.”

“What am I going to do?”

“We’ll think of something.”

Ginny could tell that Hermione was already plotting as her friend drank her screwdriver bottoms up.

“Bimbos are lining up to go out with him and have sex with him as we speak, camping out outside the Ministry, spilling into the streets,” she exaggerated.

“Can’t say I blame them. If I wasn’t your friend and didn’t know Harry I’d be lining up.”

They both froze as soon as Hermione finished talking.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, embarrassed, her deep blush evident even with the dim lighting, “I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

Ginny tried her best to brush off memories of Harry and Hermione talking the way she had hoped she and Harry eventually would.

“It’s that bloody Hag,” Hermione complained bitterly, attempting to change the subject, ”I have no filters left.”

The Hag. The training. The Hag and the training Harry never talked to her about either.

“Don’t worry. I think I have it. Leave it to me and you’ll be back together in no time.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Ginny’s woes…believable?

14. Three Women and a Baby

A/N. Loved the thoughtful reviews. All the questions keep me on my toes :)

I did have to change one minor thing in Chapter 12 – as I intend this story to closely be as canon as I can tolerate and am basing a lot of it on some of JKR’s post DH interviews, I made a mistake in pairing up Neville with Susan. Thanks to mlui for pointing that out. I did mean for him to be married to the Leaky Cauldron’s landlady – Hannah Abbott.

Here’s the next installment – first Jessie and a flashback, then Hermione and the Professor – fishing and talking about the Hallows.

Hope you enjoy.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 14 – Three Women and a Baby

Jessie was mentally and physically spent. Warren let go of her mind so she could have full control of her senses moments after he took over but only when she reassured him she was going to do as he asked.

The impulse to leave and 'save' herself was immediately quelled by logic and reason. She was almost certain Warren had set up enough wards to keep the place secure and the chances of her getting past that were slim to none. Besides, she couldn't leave Hermione with him.

Still pissed at the man as she sat and partook of the local food brought in by an acquaintance of his, there was currently a silent truce between them. She'd eventually repay him for what he had done earlier but to his credit the pressure he put on her had paid off. Having not much choice she focused her energies on the task at hand. It had taken hours but there was noticeable improvement in Hermione's condition.

Treatment-wise she opted for simplicity and stuck to basics. Whether it was by her frequent cleansing spells or just time, many of the injurious residual curses she had detected within Hermione's body were now trivial in amount. Hermione's color had improved and her pulse stronger. Her brain activity had spiked up and stayed alert at levels that even exceeded normal awake patterns and Jessie could feel Hermione fighting for her life. This determination had always been one of the many things that Jessie admired about her.

Beep..beep…beep…beep…

"What's happening?!" Warren asked her anxiously.

“It’s the breathing machine. She’s fighting it. She’s trying to breathe on her own.”

Jessie got up and walked over to her bedside, adjusting the machine setting to assist so Hermione wouldn’t have to fight it. This was hopeful. She stepped back as a couple of nuns came and assessed their patient.

A memory of Hermione being a patient in a Muggle hospital suddenly came to her…the day Hugo was born.

"I still don't think this is a good idea," Jessie told Hermione her concern about what her friend was choosing to do.

Hermione was clad in a flowery patient gown waddling the length of the birthing room at the St. Agnes Hospital Maternity ward, her right hand supporting her back, her left on her thirty six week pregnant belly, wearing the strain of sleep deprivation on her face. She was in her eighteenth hour of labor but still in high spirits.

"Thousands of mothers have given birth and will give birth in this hospital. My mother delivered me in this hospital. If it's good enough for them it's good enough for me," she rambled and would have had more to say if she wasn't so breathless.

"Muggles Mums ages ago didn't know any better. Hours of suffering to bring a baby into the world? This is downright barbaric and so passé. Why don't you just take the birthing potion and be over with it in an hour?"

"I've always wanted to deliver naturally and I didn't get the chance with Rosie. And even if I wanted to, you know why I can't...umpfff..."

Hermione stopped walking, held on to the nearby bed railing as she bent over, bit her lower lip and winced with the fresh wave of contraction. Jessie's face scrounged up with her. She got up from the visitor's chair and rubbed Hermione's back, coaching her through her breathing as the Lamaze classes taught them, doubting very much that it helped.

Witches had it easy. The birthing potion was taken at the very beginning of labour and it made the whole process quick and painless. However, to use it one had to be in a magical hospital just in case of complications and Hermione did not want to be in a Magical hospital. Although as a couple she and Ron were less newsworthy than Harry and Ginny, she could not risk the attention or the circus that would erupt if her baby looked nothing like her or Ron.

"Well if you can't have the birthing potion, for the love of God, take the Muggle drugs!" she pleaded.

Jessie had to say something. She couldn't take this unnecessary suffering anymore and she was only a spectator. That and her facial muscles were sore from sympathy labour.

Hermione waved her off as the pain eased and she continued her pacing. She had not said it out loud and would never admit to it but Jessie suspected that her friend preferred the process to hurt; the more it hurt the better.

"Are you punishing yourself for the sinful act that brought you here?" Jessie accused Hermione. "It's not going to make you feel better about it, you know."

"Shut the fuck up, Sister Jessica," Hermione growled dismissively as another contraction prevented her from fully defending her incomprehensible choice.

"Watch the language, Mum," Jessie chastised in jest hoping she'd lighten up and kept in mind to keep the Catholic in her suppressed for the remainder of the day.

A few minutes later it was evident that the contractions were more frequent and more painful. Hermione's nurse came, examined her and did some tests. Good news. It was finally time to push. The staff obstetrician and a pediatrician joined them and they set Hermione up on the bed.

As they were doing that, Jessie took her phone out and speed dialed a number, hoping Hermione wouldn't notice. She should have told Hermione that she was going to do this but deep down she was a coward and knew a less pre-occupied Hermione would try and prevent it.

"It's time," she spoke to the woman who answered and hung up.

"Who were you calling?" Hermione asked suspiciously, almost delirious from the ordeal she was going through, but sadly not delirious enough.

Jessie didn't have to answer for Hermione was already shaking her head, angry. The Auror could always read her like a book.

"No...I don't want her here! Call her ba...umpfff!"

Saved by another contraction. Jessie was where she was supposed to be, at the head of the bed gritting her teeth as Hermione shared the pain, crushing her hand with a death grip.

The Muggles had Hermione draped and in position. The doctor was in between Hermione's legs looking and poking in and around the area. The sight grossed her out. The books certainly glossed that part over. Sure he was a doctor but still there was something disturbing about being so exposed to a complete stranger. Of course, Hermione was in so much pain she didn't really care.

"Tell her I don't want her here," Hermione managed to say while recovering from that last one.

"She hates you. I don't think she gives a hoot about what you want," Jessie told Hermione what she already knew, "And I did tell her she's insane but she still wants to be here."

The doctor said over Hermione's belly, "We're ready and you're ready. At the next contraction I want you to push just like we talked about."

Hermione gave him a curt nod before turning slightly into Jessie's direction and barked, "Call her back. She only thinks she wants to be here. She obviously hasn't thought this through."

Actually, Ginny had for Jessie had spent time playing the scene out for her when she asked to be informed.

Jessie explained, "She wants to see his baby."

Why Ginny did was beyond her and she gave up trying to figure that out. She did, however, understand what her two friends were trying to accomplish by not telling Harry. She disagreed, said her piece but had enough respect for the both of them that she was not going to meddle.

“She wants to see his baby?!” Hermione repeated with incredulity, her grip on Jessie’s hand starting to tighten again and her face beginning to contort, "Tell her you'll send her a fucking picture! Hmmmpppp!!!"

The brunette took a big breath in and pushed down, lifting her shoulders up as she did, the determination on her face mixed with the now familiar pained expression.

"That was good," her doctor encouraged some half a minute later as Hermione let go and relaxed, catching her breath, "Do the same thing the next time."

His patient nodded.

"Easy for him to say," Jessie retorted so only Hermione could hear, "He hasn't lost the feeling in his fingers."

Hermione chuckled and closed her eyes, concentrating on her breathing, Ginny’s impending arrival no longer a priority. On cue Ginny came in through the door. The sight must have been a shock for she froze just as she stepped into the room.

The nurse, thinking Ginny was family and not knowing any differently, announced her presence, "Look who's here to help you out, hon."

Hermione opened her tired eyes and fleetingly met Ginny's stoic stare. The room just got a bit colder. The helpful assistant led Ginny to the empty space opposite Jessie at the head of the bed and got her to hold Hermione's other hand, which she let go of as soon as the nurse left. There was really no time to feel their awkwardness as Hermione clenched Jessie’s hand in another death grip.

"Push, Hermione! Push!" the doctor urged.

"Hmmpppp!!!"

Hermione did and repeated this a few more times over the next several minutes, keeping her eyes shut in between pushes. After some time, unbeknownst to Hermione, her doctor, the nurse and the pediatrician were starting to worry about how her baby was doing. Jessie glanced at Ginny who remained unconcerned where she stood, her eyes transfixed on the beeping screen showing the baby's heartbeat.

"It's very close, Hermione," her doctor gave her an update, "I can see its head when you bear down. I know you're tired but just one more big push."

Hermione opened her eyes and looked at him teary eyed, for the first time showing eroded confidence, "I don't think I can. I've tried and I can't."

"I'm sure you have one more in you," Jessie tried to give her a boost.

She didn't reply but did try again. Still nothing.

Hermione shook her head, "It's too hard. I can't...it hurts too much...”

Jessie heard her doctor tell the nurse to call the operating room. They were going to cut her up.

Unexpectedly, Ginny leaned in closer so Hermione had no choice but to look at her. The red head spoke to her husband’s erstwhile mistress for the first time in months, her tone as detached as the appearance on her face was but neither could mask the hurt in her eyes.

"You're having his child. Just think of him and how much you love him. Think of how you couldn't say no when he came to you, not even when you knew it was wrong and would destroy all that you both cared about. Think of how good he made you feel while betraying me. You stabbed me in the back for him. Surely you can do this for him.

"And you can't hurt as much as I'm hurting right now so stop whining and get it done. I really don't want to be here longer than I have to be."

Ginny wielded the biting words sharply and there was no mistaking it got to Hermione, the injury reflexively riling her up. Jessie saw Hermione's expression change from one of doubt to match that of Ginny's - pain and anger.

With the next wave of contraction, fuelled by what Ginny said to her, Hermione bore down with everything she had. Jessie saw Ginny grab Hermione's other hand and position herself to support Hermione from behind as the latter pushed.

Soon enough Hermione let out a primitive yawp which was immediately followed by her baby's first cry. A wave of relief came over the room.

The doctor cut the umbilical cord and showed them her still crying, blood-covered infant, "You have a beautiful boy, Hermione. Congratulations."

Hermione touched her son's cheek lightly. For a brief time the child stopped crying, opened his eyes and looked around before wailing again as he was taken away to be looked after. Hermione was openly crying. Ginny had tears in her eyes too but not for the same reason.

Ginny eased Hermione down on her back. There was silence between the three of them as the St. Agnes team finished up and left Harry's son snug in his Mum's arms.

Then it was just them. Three women and a baby; a baby with messy black hair and green eyes.

Jessie couldn't help but state the obvious, "He looks just like his father."

"Yes, he does," Ginny replied as if it was a most unfortunate thing.

In a way it was because it complicated things so much more than they wanted.

“I don’t suppose either of you has a blood relative who has black hair and green eyes?”

So it wasn’t funny.

Ginny turned to Hermione, "I've said it before. You should tell him, now more than ever."

Hermione had eyes only for the baby in her arms.

"Get out, please," she asked Ginny calmly.

Ginny complied.

"We need a moment," Hermione told her too.

From the doorway Jessie glanced back, the sight uncomfortably tugging at her heartstrings.

Under dimmed lights Hermione closed her eyes as she planted a lengthy kiss on her son’s head and sobbed silently.

XXXXXXXXXX

The rowboat was about nine feet long, four feet wide and, judging from the chipped white paint and the water at their feet, was way past its prime. Her rescuer, Professor Albus Dumbledore, had on robes of brilliant colors but had traded his wizard's hat for a fisherman's one. In his hand was an oft used chrome fishing rod at the end of which was attractive lure he had just cast off the left side.

He followed the bait to where it landed, reeled the line back in and, finding nothing tugging at its end, did it all over again. Maybe she should have taken him up on his offer of a spare rod. Much like Quidditch, her tolerance for watching someone fish depended on who the fisher was.

Truthfully Hermione didn't have time to do this. She had to get back and was hoping the Professor could point her in the right direction or maybe even take her back to where she wanted to be. She thought of a few ways to interrupt without sounding rude but couldn't come up with one she was happy with. All of it made her feel like an ungrateful bitch. Besides, surely there was a point in her crossing paths with the Professor again other than having wet and cold feet.

"Um, Professor, the boat is leaking," she finally brought the matter of the deepening waters to the wizard who seemed oblivious to it.

"Oh dear," he sounded as if he had just realized it, "I've been meaning to fix that."

With the wave of his hand the waters disappeared and a thin crack at the bottom repaired itself. But as soon as that happened the boat sprang another leak, causing the professor to blush, a bit embarrassed.

"Being old the boat is inherently leaky and in need of constant attention."

"It seems like you could use a less leaky boat."

As Professor Dumbledore fixed the second hole he replied, "True. I could also get a bigger and more seaworthy vessel while I'm at it, have the latest technological and magical enhancements on board to help me catch larger fish and anchor where I know I'll have the best catch. But then, where's the fun in that?"

"You like fishing under adversity."

"I don't seek them out if that's what you mean by 'like'. Adversities naturally happen and we deal with them as they arise. But if you notice, one generally has more appreciation for things that don't come so easily. In this case adversity makes the catch even more gratifying."

"Or frustrating, if the fish don't bite at all."

Of course, they weren't really talking about fishing anymore.

With a wistful grin on his face he replied his sights still following the end of his line, "When I was younger I got frustrated a lot. I'd like to think that with experience and skill I'm better at it compared to when I started but we all have good and bad days. I do find it less frustrating now that I fish mostly just to fish, not that there's anything wrong with fishing for the fish."

They fell into a momentary silence as she pondered what kind of an angler she was. In her forty years she guessed she had been mostly the other type, the one who fished for the fish. There were always goals to reach, laws to be changed, systems to be set up, and mostly they had to be worth her while. Her satisfaction had always depended on her success at achieving them.

That was the case even with Rose and Hugo although she couldn't imagine any parent not wanting the best for their kids and not having a thought about what that might look like. On hindsight maybe it was partly why she gave up on her marriage too quickly; it just got too hard, the consequences on Rose and Hugo too costly, that whatever little upside there was to stay together wasn't worth it.

The only time she was not fishing for fish was the time she was with Harry, when she lived for the moment, when there were no goals or expectations to be met, when it was just them, they just were and it was enough.

She finally mustered enough courage to speak up, "I'm sorry to interrupt Professor but I need to get back."

There was silence. She wondered if she had said it too softly that he didn't hear. She was about to repeat it when he asked her a question.

"Why are you here, Miss Granger?"

"I don't know why I'm here. I just am and not that I 'm not happy to see you; I don't want to be here because I have to be somewhere else. I was hoping you could help me."

"How can I help you? I’m dead and you’re still alive," he pointed out to her, his voice questioning her and pushing her to figure it out.

She hesitated, "The Hallows."

Professor Dumbledore replied, "I was beginning to wonder if you would even broach the matter."

He set his rod down and sat in front of her, the boat rocking slightly as he did. Hermione had the professor's full attention now and she wasted no time getting to the point.

"Did you ever consider destroying them?"

"When I defeated Grindelwald and held the Elder wand for the first time I impulsively tried to break it. You attempted this in many ways yourself and you know it's virtually indestructible."

"All three Hallows are."

He nodded.

"I figured as much but see, the cloak wasn't mine to even endeavor to destroy and the stone was a sentimental favourite."

Although she was sure it wasn't the old wizard's intention she felt a bit guilty about what she tried to do to Harry's cloak. Of the three it was the one she was most reluctant to get rid of, also for sentimental reasons, but theoretically the one that should have been the easiest. It was not a bad thing she was unsuccessful.

"Professor, right after Voldemort died, why didn't you tell Harry to keep the wand?"

Professor Dumbledore reminded her, "If you remember, it was Harry's choice. He didn't want the Elder wand which ironically made him the perfect master for it. What I could have and probably should have done was warn you three of the dangers of someone else re-uniting the Hallows and using it for evil."

"It would have been nice if you did," she quipped. “Why didn’t you?”

Hermione recalled being so upset at the Professor's sin of omission a long time ago but having dealt with the Hallows for more that fifteen years it was old news to her. She was no longer angry and hadn't been since she realized there was no point in dwelling on the what-ifs. The question was more a mere curiosity now.

"I just couldn't do that to Harry. I thought that with the prophecy and his destiny with Tom Riddle he had been through enough grief to last several lifetimes. I wasn't about to burden him with protecting the Hallows."

She nodded, understanding. After all, it was for the same reason she didn’t ask Harry to be part of POTH.

"And besides, evil had just been defeated," the Professor added, "The wizarding world was celebrating. I didn't want to be a party pooper."

"But you enchanted the book you gave me," she said evenly, referring to the copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard he bequeathed her, "You just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

The professor cracked a smile, "I admit, as much as I hoped it would never be a problem, I couldn't pass in peace without knowing that someone responsible would keep an eye out for the Hallows. Now, was I mistaken to assume you wouldn't mind being the secret's steward?"

Hermione couldn't imagine anyone else being able to accomplish what had to be done but she did need some validation for her own peace of mind.

"No you weren't. Do you regret choosing me?"

"I have to admit what you did with it was a bit unorthodox," the professor replied too kindly. "Or perhaps I should say 'novel'. I have no regrets. Did you find the other stories in it useful?"

"Yes. But it seems like we're losing and we're running out of time."

"Don’t give up hope. You’re not dead yet and the remaining members of the POTH will not let you down."

It would have been over a long time ago had she used the Hallows and she had thought about doing so many times.

“Did you ever second guess yourself?"

"About?"

"You had two of them at any one point. Why didn't you borrow Harry's cloak and go after Voldemort and the Horcruxes? Why leave that whole thing up to chance that a bunch of teenagers would figure out the Hallows in time and just at the right time?"

"I had faith that all things would eventually turn out for the good."

Hermione had no such faith.

"Many died and it could have ended really horribly. Voldemort could have killed Harry."

"Miss Granger, I know the despite history you still put little stock in prophecies. Never being a firm believer of divination myself it took a long time for me to accept that Harry was the One who had to do it. I was tempted many times but I would have failed to rid the world of Voldemort even with possession of all three Hallows."

"But how could you have been so sure of that. You never even tried."

"I didn't deserve to be the Master of Death,” Professor Dumbledore said emphatically, “You of all people should understand. You had all three and gave them up."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I had this funny scene in mind when I began writing about Hugo’s birth but it turned out quite serious. I hope having it from a neutral POV conveyed both Ginny’s and Hermione’s emotions adequately.

The talk about the Hallows was my attempt at explaining why the Professor acted the way he did. This chapter should also give you more ideas about the POTH and why Hermione put it together.

Up next … probably the chapter before I put the present on hold and go back to the past…it’s about time Harry wondered where Jessie was and I’m thinking Hugo will attempt an escape from the Pitch with the help of some school friends :)

15. Escape

A/N. There are three parts to this chapter.

In the first, Harry tells his children about Hugo. I didn’t think of writing the scene until autumnRose mentioned it (thanks a lot!). I was not enthusiastic about it because I knew Harry would have to really pay for what he did. It was difficult to write and those who don’t like to read Harry squirm and struggle maybe should skip it. I did write it from Al’s POV hoping it would be less painful.

In the second Hugo feels the aftermath of the revelation and in the third, Harry at the Leaky Cauldron.

For those who do skip the first part I urge you to read the last few lines of it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 15 - Escape

Al tossed and turned in his bed. It felt like there were bugs crawling all over him and he couldn't keep still. He was hot all over, angry at his Dad and angry at the person he was forced to share his room with. Just a few feet away in a spare bed he was sure his half brother was awake.

When his Dad took him, James and Lily into his Library after supper they all thought they were getting a reprimand for spying on his meeting earlier that day. They couldn't have been more wrong.

He had them sit closely and was clearly not himself. Mum was there too, right beside him, as tense and as anxious as the rest of them were. The last time the family was all serious and huddled that close was when Grandma Molly died a few years ago. It was from this past experience that Al had expected something bad but nothing could have prepared him for what his father told them.

"Before I say anything else I want you to know that I love you all and I always will no matter what."

Al's heart skipped a beat. He had never heard his Dad talk so seriously.

James shifted nervously as Lily leaned forward and asked, concerned, "What's wrong Dad?"

"There's something that I want to share with you that's unpleasant. It will hurt you and it can make you angry but you have to know the truth," his Dad said, his voice grave and quivering, his eyes meeting each of theirs apologetically, "Your Mum and I thought about how best to tell you this. There isn't a best way."

Al noticed his Dad glance over to his Mum who nodded in encouragement. His Dad took a big breath in, exhaled and continued.

"Fourteen years ago I had an affair with another woman. It was inexcusable, wrong and regrettable. I hurt a lot of people, your Mum most of all and now you. It took some time but your Mum and I worked it out and put that behind us."

Dad stopped talking, waiting for their reaction. Al was speechless. His Dad did what?! He was half expecting someone to jump up and say it was all a joke, a cruel one but a prank nonetheless. Was he the only one having trouble believing this?

He looked over to his older brother. James looked calm, quiet and somber, as if this wasn't news to him. That wasn't normal. Lily was beet red, eyes ablaze with pools of tears poised to erupt from the hurt and anger behind them, glaring at Dad and then at Mum. She looked like she was about to bolt. That seemed a bit extreme. His Mum, who sat by Lily, took her hand in hers and held it tight, trying to comfort, urging her to stay and bracing her for more. Mum was already crying and she never cried.

His father moved closer to them, hands clasped together, the look on his face as he watched them and saw Lily's reaction was a sight Al had not seen before; Dad was trying to hold himself together.

Being the logical one, Al needed to know more than that. He couldn't let go of a nagging question in his mind. It seemed stuck there until it got an answer, as if with one everything would make sense.

"Who was the woman, Dad?"

Al had no idea and was even more surprised by his answer.

"Your Aunt Hermione."

Al's jaw dropped, stuttering as he replied, "B...but yo...you were married and she was married."

And yes he knew that was what an affair was. It was just too unimaginable.

"At that time she and your Uncle Ron were separated," Dad clarified.

"But you and Mum weren't. I don't understand…"

"It was a mistake...I made a mistake."

"But why? Weren't you happy?"

His father seemed to be choosing his words carefully, "Your Mum and I were having some difficulties but that shouldn't have mattered. I make no excuse. I made a mistake and I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"Didn't you love Mum?"

"I did. I do."

"I still don't get it," Al was shaking his head, frustrated at his inability to understand.

"I wish I could explain it better but I can't without sounding...," his voice trailed off, as if he decided not to continue with that train of thought, "Al, I know you're trying to find reason in all of this, to make sense of why I did it. I can give you all the reasons in the world but it still won't make it right."

Al felt sick in the stomach. Although he didn't live in a bubble and was aware from friends and family that such things could happen in a marriage, this happening to his Mum and Dad was totally unexpected. In his eyes they were perfect, his Dad was perfect, and for the first time in his life he realized that his Dad was not perfect after all.

A protectiveness sprung from within him as he looked over to his Mum, whatever lost admiration for his Dad had now transferred over to her. She wasn't mad, she had forgiven him, and the anger that he should have felt was smothered by her calm and supportive presence. It was okay. Things were alright. There was status quo.

"Did you love her?" his brother asked.

"Yes," his Dad replied honestly.

Al noticed his Mum flinch ever so slightly. James annoyed him. It was a tactless question to ask while Mum was there and his Dad should have lied.

"Why are you telling us all this? Why does it matter now that she's dead?" James followed up with a good one, one that his Dad seemed uncomfortable to answer.

"It's obvious really," Lily spoke, bawling her eyes out as she did, "He was born five months after I was."

"He?"

"Hugo's our brother," James answered for Lily.

Lily was outraged, "How could you?! How could you cheat on Mum while she was pregnant!?"

"Lily…" Mum spoke for the first time, an attempt to calm her daughter down.

"I'm really sorry sweetheart," his Dad apologized to Lily, reaching for her hand.

"Is that all you can say?! You're sorry?!" Lily abruptly got up, let go of Mum and pushed Dad's arm away, "I hate you!"

"Lily, it's not what you think. Your Dad loves you," Mum said to her.

"I don't believe that! If he did then he wouldn't have done what he did and we wouldn't be having this conversation! He's selfish and he cares only about himself!" Lily was shouting, "And I can't believe you took him back! You shouldn't have! I would have much rather grown up fatherless!"

Lily stormed out past their Mum and Dad sobbing. Dad wanted to follow but Mum stopped him.

"You know she didn't mean that," Mum said to him, but that did nothing to improve Dad's devastated expression.

Like his Dad he figured Lily meant each and every word she said. Mum left and followed Lily up the stairs, leaving the men in the Potter Library in what would be one of the most awkward moments in Al's memory. Al sat there quietly, his eyes glued to his shoelaces, thinking how foolish he was; there would be no status quo. Things were already changing and he couldn't see past the moment to be hopeful that things would be okay.

He couldn't help but find blame. He blamed his Dad for doing what he did and the brother he didn't know he had for ruining their family. Tears stung his eyes and he couldn't stay where he was seated. He couldn't look at his Dad for fear of echoing the words Lily just said. On the one hand he was angry but on the other he loved the man and couldn't kick him especially when he was down.

His Dad after some time regained his voice.

"I know it's a lot to take in at a time like this," he said to them, "I didn't know about Hugo until yesterday."

"He's going to live with us?" James asked rhetorically.

"He is my son and your brother. Our home is his."

The home he broke...sure.

"And everyone will know?" Al queried.

His Dad nodded, "Sometime after his Mum's funeral."

"I suppose you expect us to be nice to him," Al couldn't hide the bitterness in his tone.

"I expect you treat him as you would your brother," came a firm reply, "It's not his fault he is who he is so don't take it out on him. If you're angry be angry at me. Is that clear?"

Already he was taking Hugo's side over his.

Al stood and started to leave, "May I be excused?"

"Is that clear?" his Dad repeated, more assertively.

Al met his gaze and glared back, "Yes sir."

As he exited the library and made his way up the stairs he overheard James.

"They'll come around, Dad."

"I hope so," his Dad replied.

"Does this mean you and Mum are staying together?"

Al took two rungs up at a time. He didn't want to hear his father’s answer and whatever it was that his brother meant by his question, he rather he didn't know.

XXXXXXXXXX

Pack in hand and careful not to make a sound, Hugo slipped out of Al's room just as he heard sonorous snoring from his older brother. It had taken so long for Al to fall asleep and hopefully his aiders were holding position. He had managed to send them a coded Muggle wireless text message earlier when it was clear there was no way his father would let him go back to help find his Mum's murderer.

It was a good thing too because Hugo couldn't stand the frosty treatment he was getting from Lily and Al since after dinner. It was easy enough to figure that his secret was out. Even though he had thought about the moment a lot of times and had expected it, reality was much worse. He knew it wasn’t his fault but it still stung. He felt so bad for Lily.

Hugo couldn’t stay and he thought that maybe if he left now things would be better. The best would be to disappear from their lives forever, something his Mum had thought of but couldn’t do. A gnawing chest pain came as he thought of her and understood her all the more. He had failed her.

This is too hard. I’m running away, Mum. I’m so sorry I can’t make it work.

He brushed off the tears from his face and steeled himself. First there was catching his Mum’s killers then he would be winging it. He had no plans beyond leaving and getting to Uncle Warren. He was however certain that he couldn’t go back to this and even if his Dad offered, which Hugo couldn’t imagine he would now that he knew who he was, he couldn’t live with him. He didn’t know how but somehow he would take care of himself.

As his father, Dad and Aunt Ginny were still out and he decided to take his chance. After clearing the back entrance of any magical alarms, he unlatched the lock and flashed three short bursts of white light from his wand. He waited for a response, scanning the darkness of the Quidditch pitch and beyond. Then it came. Red light.

They weren't ready. He waited. Some five minutes later he flashed his wand again. Same response. What was taking them so long?

"You should just tell Dad how to find Uncle Warren," someone hissed from behind him.

Rosie. Shoot.

"I promised Mum I wouldn't get him involved," he whispered back.

"Technically it's Uncle Harry who's getting him involved, not you. Just tell him. Tell them. They can help Uncle Warren fight the Master of Death."

James must have shared with her what they overheard during the meeting. There was no time to argue with her.

"Go back to sleep."

"I'm coming with you."

He just noticed that Rosie had a rucksack packed as well.

"No, you're not!"

"She was my mother too. So what are we waiting for?"

"Yeah, what the hell are you waiting for?"

A rough voice replied from the shadows outside and a large furry animal suddenly appeared at the doorway startling brother and sister, toppling them onto their backs. Rosie's eyes immediately widened at her recognition of danger.

Silencio!

Rosie's mouth was fully agape and if not for his quickness would have woken up the entire neighbourhood. He quickly turned to face the six foot beast that had just entered the Potter House and gave him a castigating look.

"What?" the werewolf whispered.

"You're scaring my sister."

The werewolf caught his reflection off the mirror and realized why.

"Sorry," he whispered to Rosie as he changed back into his human form, longish blond hair and baby blue eyes, offering a hand which Hugo's sister did not take.

"This is Spencer, a friend of mine from school," Hugo helped her up instead and took off the spell he cast on her, "Spence, my sister, Rose."

"This is Rosie? She's a fox! Now I know why you never introduced us. I'm delighted to finally meet you. Love the pink hair."

Spencer took her hand, planted a kiss on the back of it and flashed a roguish grin his best friend had used often on other girls because it actually worked. Rosie was blushing and giggling an incoherent reply. Hugo rolled his eyes. Great.

"Spence," he reminded sharply, "That's my sister. Get your hands off her."

"Chill man. I was just saying hello."

"Right. I'll kick your arse later. Can we go?" Hugo retorted impatiently, threatening his friend who was a head taller and two years older than he was.

"And are you coming too?" Spencer asked Rosie.

Before Rosie could answer Hugo hexed her, casting a full body bind. It wasn’t exactly how he wanted to say good bye to his sister but he had no choice.

"I'm really sorry but I can't let you," he said to her ignoring the fierce look she was giving him. “If you go Dad will follow.”

While a hole burned in his back from Rosie’s piercing glare, Spencer led him out to the pitch with a small light in his hand, instructing him to trace his footsteps and move towards the northernmost Potter property line, which ended on the edge of a large city park. As they got closer, Hugo noticed an almost indiscernible monotonous low pitched humming sound.

"What is that?" he asked.

"Isa calls it the Magical Barrier Fragmentation Device. I prefer Ward Buster."

Before he could ask another question they were face-to-face with the 10-foot concrete property boundary. Spencer was once again a werewolf, giving him a boost up the wall and helping him down on the other side where a black flat-bed Ford was idling. A Muggle dishwasher size contraption with a cannon sized nozzle aimed at the Potter house whirred softly on its cargo space.

"It's about time."

Flashlight in hand, a teenage girl with long straight black hair and black eyes jumped off the back of the pick-up and approached Hugo with a worried expression, "Are you okay?"

He nodded but did not meet her interrogating stare. Isabella Martinez knew he wasn't. He steered their conversation away from him.

"Was all this really necessary?"

Hugo was perplexed about his friends' choice of method of escape. For non-magical fifteen year olds this was a big production. Had he known they were going to do this he would not have asked for help but feeling so alone he really needed their company.

Spencer pointed to the Pitch, "In case you forgot, your father is Britain's Head Auror. Isa didn't want to take any chances."

Isa was a scientific genius who applied principles of the Muggle discipline to enhance or negate magical forces.

"How did you manage to put all this together?"

"We're on a field experiment," Isa said too innocently.

"Off campus and out of country?"

"Interestingly enough the school forms doesn't ask for that information," his other friend grinned, "We borrowed Uncle Biff's truck to transport the thing from the Flooport but genius here almost blew it."

Isa let out an exasperated breath, visibly annoyed at the blond.

"You could have warned me before slapping me on the butt in front of your uncle and introducing me as your girlfriend."

Hugo suppressed the laughter as the image of the scene flashed before him. Uncle Biff raised Spencer since his parents died from a werewolf attack when he was two. He had met his friend's uncle a few times and, comparing Spencer's wild upbringing with Hugo's sheltered experience, the man was lacking in a few key parenting skills. The things his friend got away with were a continuous source of open envy.

"That was the quickest way to get him to fork the keys over," Spencer defended his crude behaviour, "And besides, had I told you beforehand you would have never agreed."

"You're right about that," Isa retorted.

Hugo became friends with the two since their first year at the IMAN. They got along okay before but lately, he had noticed how much more irritable Isa seemed to be around Spencer. They both attended classes over the summer and Hugo assumed something must have happened then. He made a note to ask Spencer about it after he sorted his own stuff out.

On his suggestion they got going. He helped Isa get into the cab and sat beside her. Spencer got into the driver’s seat, shifted gears and put the truck in motion.

Their destination was Spencer's home, an hour's drive from the Pitch. As part of security, the IMAN had a closed circuit Floo network connecting it to its students' places of residence. Once they got to the school, Isa would get them access to her home and from there they could Disapparate to where he suspected Uncle Warren would be.

"I'm sorry about your Mum," Isa's voice interrupted his thoughts.

Hugo thanked her and they slipped back into silence. He looked out the window and at the rear view mirror, the sight of the Pitch getting smaller and smaller, darkness giving him cover as he cried quietly. Jaw clenched, he transformed himself back to his natural appearance, feeling that it was the least he could do for her.

I’m so sorry, Mum.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was almost ten in the evening. Harry was seated at a round table in one of the small upper meeting rooms at the Leaky Cauldron surrounded by the familiar faces of wizards and witches he was certain he could trust. His reservations about completely sharing the story of the Hallows were completely gone now that there was urgency to finding the Dark wizard who in all likelihood had all three.

Master of the Wand and Master of Death. Either way Harry was not fazed by what was before them. He felt empowered by the brave faces of old friends and comrades driven by the burning need to finish what Hermione was trying to do and getting justice for what befell her. It did make him wonder again why Hermione chose not to do what he was doing now. Why the POTH?

Ron was also there, seated as far away from him as possible. Harry was glad that he was setting aside their personal quarrels for now and had joined him to talk with their Hogwarts schoolmates. He had asked Ginny to come too on Ron's point that if they were asking others to help them, why was she being left out.

For her part, Ginny had been quiet during his monologue, maybe too surprised that he had asked her to join in. Or maybe like him she was still reeling from how badly Al and Lily reacted to their talk after dinner. They had thought the worst and it did happen despite Ginny being there. She had followed Lily to her room and they did talk a bit but she convinced him that the best thing to do was to give Al and Lily space and time to think, to trust that they would soon realize that there was no point dwelling on the past.

Nevertheless, Harry was quite worried about Lily. He felt that he had already lost her and it was the worst feeling in the world.

His attention shifted back to reality as Neville, who was sitting beside his wife Hannah, asked, "This group of seven, what is it called again?"

"POTH," Ron answered and spelled out the letters for him.

Neville had a frown on his face.

"What is it?" a youthful looking Dennis Creevey enquired.

"I've come across that word before and not so long ago," he shared, still as forgetful as he was when he was younger.

He turned to his wife for assistance who shrugged and suggested, "Hogwarts maybe?”

"It's not inconceivable that she asked someone from Hogwarts to be a part of it," Harry replied. "A professor?"

"A magical being?" Ron chimed in.

The suggestions made Neville remember, "Actually both. Well, at least we've always suspected he was part goblin."

"Professor Flitwick?" Ron said out loud.

Of course, they couldn't ask their old Charms teacher because he had been dead for a year.

"I helped his replacement clear out his quarters and there was this small chest inside his closet that we found difficult to move and couldn't open. It had those letters on its handle."

"But don't magical protections cease at the time the caster dies?" Dennis asked.

"Not all," Ron gave Harry a fleeting scowl.

"Or maybe it wasn't the Professor who conjured it," Luna Lovegood-Scamander just rejoined their conversation via Floo from the embers within the fire, "What was in it?"

"Dunno," Neville raised both shoulders up, "We tried everything but never got it open.”

“Where is it now?” Ron asked.

“Last I saw it, it was still in Professor Hullseye’s quarters but I can’t be sure he hasn’t moved it."

That set off a discussion on how to get into his room without raising suspicion from either the Charms Professor or the Hogwarts Headmistress. It also made Harry suspicious about the real cause of Professor Flitwick's death, which had been 'due to natural causes'. If the Professor was POTH too then they were running out of alive POTHs to find.

He would definitely ask Jessie to look into how he died. That was the other thing. He had not heard back from her and Seamus was not there yet.

After another half an hour they adjourned. Neville had a plan to get into the quarters to see if the chest was still there and examine it more closely. They would have to involve George and the Wheezes. Neville and Susan were going to help Ted find more POTH names while Luna was going to discretely use her connections in the magical being world to find out if POTH meant anything to them. Spying on the Head Unspeakable would be dangerous but Dennis assured him he was up to it. He would attempt to find out if the stone was in the Head Unspeakable’s vault.

As the others left, Seamus arrived with a worried expression.

"I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized. "I got tied up in France trying to complete a deal."

"Where's Jessie?" Harry asked noticing that he came alone.

"I was going to ask you the same thing. I saw her when she left for work this morning. She said she had lots to do and that she was coming home late. I haven't been able to get a hold of her since."

"She told me she was with her sick sister," Harry recalled their phone conversation more than twelve hours ago, recognizing that if Seamus did not know that, it meant one thing.

"Harry, Jessie is an only child," Seamus face was ashen, "What the fuck is going on?"

Just as Harry was about to answer his phone rang. It was Ted. Hugo was on the move.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. This chapter will be the last of the angsty present in a while.

I am getting a vibe that I’ve tested most readers to their limits and interest in the story is waning – quite understandably so because of what it is about! Thanks to the loyal few who continue to follow it.

16. Finnigan's

A/N. To those who left reviews – thanks. They were very helpful. I’ll be keeping them in mind as I write the rest of this story.

This is a transition chapter. As I mentioned the plan is to leave the angsty present (most will be relieved) and put that on hold until we find out what really happened.

Warnings : Not much direct HHr interaction here. While Ron isn’t going to have an appearance, the squeamish might find some of Hermione’s internal dialogue about him deplorable. :rolleyes:

The first part is a continuation of the last chapter – Harry85, it was the best way I could come up with to explain why Harry chose to let Hugo go.

The second part is still from Harry’s POV but of the past – a continuation of Hermione’s first day back at work after the incident at the Japanese restaurant where she and Warren have a ‘disagreement’. I had a lot of fun with this one.

The third part is a quick overview of where the major players of the story were in their lives back in 2003. The reviewer comment about Ginny seemingly being everywhere is not unwarranted. I need to show Harry’s relationship with Ginny because he did end up marrying her and even though Past!Ginny will be leaving to join the Harpies at Holyhead soon, Harry and Hermione will have to talk about her and who she is to Harry at some point.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 16 – Finnigan’s

“What do you want me to do?” Ted asked him.

It took Harry a fraction of a second to answer Ted's question.

"Let them go, but keep close. Call the standby team into action."

Ted acknowledged and hung up. Ginny realized what was happening and didn't like it.

"What are you doing? You can't let him go back there."

"What do you propose I do? Lock him up and force information out of him?"

"I would," Ron said.

Harry did not argue and let the challenge slide. Ron was not going to make Harry feel that he was a lousy parent compared to him. Since intercepting Hugo's message to his Muggle friends the Head Auror had thought about this long and hard. It was a difficult choice to make but what made him finally decide was seeing Hugo just before they left for the Leaky Cauldron.

It was painful to watch the boy withdraw as Al and Lily made very little effort to hide how they felt about him being their brother. Lily even insisted on going back to Hogwarts that night. Just as Harry was afraid of, their rejection solidified Hugo' guilt about hurting them for being who he was. Illogical as the guiltiness was, sadly enough, at thirteen he would have felt the same and wouldn't want to stay either.

"I can't believe you're putting him in harm's way," Ginny pointed out.

"I don't want him to go but you saw him tonight. Not only does he want to find justice for his Mum, he's desperate to leave and be with those he can’t hurt by who he is."

Hugo wanted to be amongst people who accepted him for who he was and Harry could relate to that. After all, he ran away from blood relatives who hated him and once longed to live with his godfather when he was around Hugo's age. Harry couldn't deny Hugo that which he was currently not able to provide.

After Hugo rejected Ron's final appeal to tell them how to find Warren, it was apparent he did not have faith in them not to turn his uncle in (and he was absolutely right not to). He would never willingly part with the information. It would be like ratting on family.

So while coercion would have been the easier and safer route Harry went with his gut. For now he would cut Hugo some slack for not doing so would drive the kid further away. Over time he would introduce himself into his son’s life; the first major thing he had to do was gain Hugo's trust.

"But he belongs here. Hermione sent him here," Ginny was still understandably concerned, "There has to be a better way. If he gets hurt..."

"Give me a little credit, will you? I promise you I won't let anything bad happen to him. I am good at what I do and I do know what I'm doing."

"I still don't like this," Ron was shaking his head but he wouldn't understand because he had never ever been alone in his life.

"It's my decision," Harry replied with finality, then got on the phone with Rocco from Ministry Security office.

"Will someone explain what's going on?" Seamus pleaded, still in the dark and very confused.

Ron and Ginny spoke with Seamus and filled him in while Harry got the confirmation he needed from surveillance cameras at the CFO's office. Rocco sent him the image of Warren's wolf-like Patronus delivering Jessie a message.

“Warren has Jessie,” he showed them the picture.

He held on to the other conclusion he arrived at, his pulse rapidly beating just thinking about it. Jessie told him she was with her sick sister, not once but twice. She had to have been referring to Hermione. Hermione was alive.

Logic took over and it made perfect sense. Warren had Jessie, Jessie was with Hermione, Warren had Hermione. Harry looked at Ron and Ginny. There was no point telling them until he saw her with his own eyes.

What worried him was that Hermione was obviously very ill. Hermione would never fake her own death and allow Hugo and Rose to go through all this. She would have sent word if she was alive and well enough. Survival mode or not Warren better have a good explanation for not telling them she was alive.

With Hugo travelling the Muggle way there was plenty of time to set a trap. Harry was ninety-nine percent sure Hugo was going home and it made sense that Warren was going to be nearby.

He and Ron went back to the Ministry and went over the plan of action with eight of the best British Aurors on active roster hoping they would be up to the challenge of getting Warren into custody if his plan to talk his partner into giving up fell through. Warren was a messy and unfair dueler who would not care about civilians and Harry wanted to avoid combat with him as much as possible.

After giving Ron further instructions about how to handle the Minister, Max, and Hank, he Disapparated and joined Ted in time to watch the black pick up truck drive into a gated community.

As they waited, Harry speculated why Warren chose to do what he did. With that came a memory of how his relationship with Hermione first started. They had come a long way from that and it always made him wonder what if he never interceded.

XXXXXXXXXX

29 January 2003 - The Ministry of Magic - Head Auror Office

Harry stood in between Hermione and Warren keeping them apart and both at arms length, still wearing the white chef's outfit with the name 'Takeshi' on his chest. He was trying to resolve a juvenile argument between two very irate Aurors. They had been called in by John Dawlish to debrief the Wasabi Hut incident some two hours before and when the Head Auror had to leave unexpectedly to address the public relations fall out from what happened, he was left with this current volatile situation.

"Time out!" Harry said with authority but neither his partner nor his friend, both his subordinates, seemed to have heard him.

"You should have backed off when I told you to!" Warren yelled at Hermione, his appearance now his usual self.

"Right! Because we normally do whatever potential suspects tell us to do!" Hermione bellowed in return, "We didn't know about the operation! We weren't even aware there were operatives in the area!"

"Because you're fucking idiots!"

"Warren!"

"And you're a pompous arrogant dickhead so we're even!"

"Hermione!"

This was deteriorating into abysmal name-calling. Dean was finding it all amusing.

"A little help here?" he said to the other Auror, miffed at Dean's preference not to get involved.

Hermione's partner replied, his hands up, palms facing Harry, and chuckling, "No way. I want to see her kick his ass."

Harry didn't want it to come to that. And really, he wasn't sure who would kick whose ass. Warren would not stand down just because Hermione was a woman.

"Look here," Hermione said to Warren a bit more calmly, "I'm sorry about your partner being injured. I'm sorry about setting your case back. But you should have arrested Gaunt when you had the chance. I just reviewed his rap sheet. I can't figure out what else he would have to do for us to reel him in."

"Honey," Warren addressed Hermione with every intention to get on her nerves even more, "That information is on a need to know basis and you don't need to know."

Maybe he should have warned Warren about this. Telling Hermione there was information she couldn't have was like putting raw meat in a shark's cage. Hermione was looking at Harry as if he was the raw meat.

"I'll speak with John," Harry caved, knowing he wouldn't have a chance anyway.

"Hell no! I don't want this chick on the case!" Warren protested.

"Did you just call me 'chick'?!" Hermione asked in disbelief, her voice cracking from irritation.

Warren ignored her, "This is as much Canuck as it is Brit and I won't allow some airhead who thinks she knows it all to muck it up."

"Fuck off you chauvinist pig!"

"That's enough!" Harry said aloud and he got into Warren's face, "Don't ever call her that. She isn't one, okay?!"

"Okay," Warren answered promptly, stepping off the dispute.

"And you, mind the language!" Harry scolded Hermione, too, astonished by the colorful language she seemed to have acquired recently.

"Sorry," she replied somewhat embarrassed but still annoyed, "Come on Dean."

"Shouldn't we wait for John?" Dean, who had been guffawing moments earlier, was now confused.

"We can't be at this debriefing."

"John asked you to be here," Harry reminded her.

"John is wrong. Section five point five point eight point three point ten of the 2002 revised British Magical Law Enforcement Auror Manual of Operations states that personnel not directly involved in a covert case should not be allowed to attend any meetings or discussions concerning aforementioned case," she rattled off, pausing only because she was out of breath, "And under no exception will this rule be violated."

"Really?" Warren scoffed, thinking she was bluffing.

"Really," Hermione replied stoically then wandlessly sent the six inch thick bound document flying from the nearby bookcase straight at his partner's chest, causing Warren to grunt on impact and left with no choice but to grab a hold of it with his arms, "Look it up yourself. I suppose that despite being a Neanderthal you can actually read. Do you need an English-Canadian dictionary?"

Warren gave her a scowl then said to them as they were on their way out the door, "The paperwork is on your desk. They need to be filled out before the end of the day. Ten feet of parchment, each."

"Ten feet of parchment?" Hermione asked, stopping at the doorway with a querying expression but a glint in her eye.

"Yes, honey," Warren replied, smug about it.

Harry groaned knowing what was about to happen.

Hermione motioned to the book, "You might as well read section five point five point eight point four point ten about reports. I won't tell you what it says because I don't want to insult your intelligence, not that you have much of it. I'll move the paperwork to your desk."

"Fuck…"Warren was pie faced.

"Darn," Dean said faking a frown, "And I was so looking forward to doing that."

"Me too," Hermione sighed.

"Airhead know-it-all one, chauvinist pig zero," Harry overheard Dean say to Hermione as they hi-fived and left John's office laughing.

"What section did she say it was in, again?!" his frustrated partner asked, furiously leafing through the MOO.

Warren definitely had a lot to learn.

"Do yourself a favour mate. Don't bother," he advised, mentally preparing himself for the long afternoon he had to spend filling out forms, "Didn't I tell you not to mess with her?"

XXXXXXXXXX

The sun had just set when a section of Diagon Alley lit up with designer fireworks created by Weasley Wheezes. A display of Irish green and Gryffindor red splashed the sky and the corner of Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley was teeming with well-wishing wizards, witches and beings.

Her first day back at work had been brutal and she stopped by the Ministry pool to do a few laps to unwind. Hermione almost didn't make it in time but found Dean, Luna, Ginny, and Jessie amongst the boisterous crowd just as the Gryffindor red ribbon was cut in half. A beaming Seamus Finnigan had a pair of very large lion shaped scissors in his hands and there was thunderous applause as Finnigan's, Seamus' very own bar and restaurant opened its doors to the public for the first time.

"First round's on the house!" the owner announced.

Not long after they were inside, holding on to their drinks, listening to the Irish Rockgods perform live on the temporary stage beside the bar, intermittently trying to talk over the music and the buzz of excitement from the rest of the crowd. It was SRO. Hermione was wired seeing many of her Hogwarts friends and acquaintances there probably because she hadn't seen them in such a long time and it was the perfect occasion to catch up on what everyone was up to.

She and Ginny managed to extricate Luna from Dean. Luna snuck out from the Scamander camp in Greenland just so she could be there to support Seamus. She excitedly told them about a job offer from the Australian Ministry to be co-lead investigator for a study on the nocturnal Seven Legged Jumparoos of Southern Australia to hopefully find out why the national magical beasts were dwindling in number. Aside from needing to live in Australia the only other catch was it would take at least three years (the species' pregnancy cycle) to complete the study. It was something she had yet to mention to Dean.

"He won't be happy about it," Luna said but as usual, if she was concerned that never ruffled her calm and buoyant exterior. "He's probably going to say 'no', especially because I would have to work with Newt's grandson."

Newt's grandson Rolf, and this was Dean talking, was a 'little twit' he wanted to pummel for being too good looking and for openly admiring Luna during a recent charity event held in London. In truth Rolf was a good-natured guy who wasn't shy about being attracted to the Ravenclaw. Dean would definitely say 'no'.

Ginny asked Luna, "What if he does?"

Luna shrugged unconcerned, "I don't know. But my Mum always said, if something is meant to be, nothing will get in the way of it happening and if it doesn't happen then it's not meant to be."

Hermione could never get Luna nor her Mum and she stopped trying a long time ago. In her opinion, 'not meant to be' was just some lame excuse for not being able to get a desired outcome despite working for it. But while in the past beliefs opposite hers grated like mal-aligned molars and annoyed her so much so she always had to try and make the other see things her way, her new mantra about it was 'to each his own'. She did however find that difficult to apply to certain people, one in particularly seemed to come to mind. Hermione scanned the crowd again but didn't see her ex. It was just as well he wasn't here.

"Is Ron coming?" Luna asked her innocently with her big blue eyes as if reading her mind.

Hermione shrugged and mumbled not knowing. She missed him and not only because they hadn't seen each other in a long while.

Don't even go there, she internally scolded herself. Bad things usually happened when she started feeling this way and she always had regrets after. It was a good thing she had a sane moment and deleted Ron's contact info from her phone’s memory a while back.

"He's working graveyard these days," Ginny answered. "And they're always short staffed up north."

Ron transferred to the North Quadrant team right after they last split up. He was apparently dating his boss' granddaughter who Ginny said was like 'twelve' in mental age. Loyal friend that Ginny was it was requisite ex's new GF bashing; Ginny was trying to make her feel better. As Luna asked Ginny more questions about Ron she had to excuse herself and quickly looked for someone else to talk with.

She found Neville Longbottom. He was all smiles as he told her Headmistress McGonagall had interviewed him for the soon to be vacated Herbology professor position at Hogwarts. It seemed hopeful that he would be accepted as Professor Sprouts' understudy for a year. Neville then listened attentively as Hannah Abbott told them about her recent promotion as an assistant manager in a downtown Muggle five star hotel. Ernie Macmillan shared his success in sending a notorious professional burglar to Azkaban recently while Justin Finch-Fletchley talked about his and Susan Bones' plans to market their fledging catering business.

There were others; the Patil twins, George and Angelina Weasley, Percy Weasley dropped by with his pregnant wife Audrey, some other Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff schoolmates and she even struck up a conversation with a decent looking guy working at the Ministry Communication Department. He asked for her number and, interested enough, she parted with it. The taking herself out of the market concept folded at the first real test it was subjected to. It was pathetic to have common sense overruled by hormones.

By the time she was done she was feeling a bit hungry as she had had almost nothing but hors d'oeuvres and alcohol since she got there. Unfortunately the kitchen was closed. It was almost midnight, the band had been replaced by soft jazz music and those remaining had settled down and found seats at the bar, tables and booths, the mood more subdued. There was still a good size crowd.

Luna and Dean had a booth to themselves and seemed to be in a serious conversation. She didn't want to interrupt. Ginny was at a corner table somewhat hidden from view, leaning in as she seemed to be genuinely listening to a man Hermione earlier noticed had been checking the red head out. Ginny laughed at a joke but Hermione could tell it was somewhat unnatural, as if her friend was forcing herself to enjoy present company. At least Ginny was trying, Hermione thought, then spontaneously wondered where Harry was and whether or not he had already dropped in. It was still hard to believe they weren't a couple anymore.

Hermione found Seamus relatively free (finally!) at the bar showing Jessie and her date some of the stuff behind the counter. She walked up to them hoping to properly congratulate him. She briefly did that earlier but he had been too busy and was swept away by his other hosting duties.

Seamus was still beaming as he saw her come up and then excused himself from Jessie and her friend, hoisting himself up and sliding expertly over the bar counter to meet her.

"So? What do you think?"

"This is wonderful Seamus!" she said hugging him as she did earlier, bursting with pride, "Absolutely amazing! You did it! I wish I was here to help out. I heard everyone had a blast of a time putting this together."

Dean told her how their old Hogwarts mates chipped in. Susan and Justin helped him with the menu, Dean, Neville, Harry, Ron and even George transformed the physical space, while Ginny, Luna, Susan and Hannah came up with the design, furnishings and décor.

Seamus was grinning from ear to ear when he poked fun at her, "Oh, I forgive you. We were actually relieved you weren't here to boss everyone around."

"Hey!"

They laughed. She was really proud of him. Just a year ago Seamus was working as a barkeep and struggling a bit, not knowing what to do, and now he had turned it all around. She was so happy that he made his dream into a reality.

"So, what do you really think of the place?" Seamus asked seriously, anxious for her opinion.

Hermione looked around appraising it meticulously for the first time since she got there. She remembered what the space looked like before and wouldn't have thought it could be shaped up to what she was seeing now. The ceilings were raised and peppered with special recessed lighting that was almost indiscernible, the dining area was adorned with tasteful Hogwarts artwork and memorabilia , the furnishings were elegant but not stuffy and the exquisitely custom designed circular bar that was at the centre of the room stood out invitingly just as it was meant to.

She had not looked closely yet but now that it was unobstructed by patrons she caught a glimpse of the intricate carvings etched along the wooden walls of the restaurant, unobtrusive to those who weren’t looking but well defined to those who were. It was a memorial, names and faces of those who died and suffered in the hands of Voldemort, images depicting events that were part of the most defining moment of their generation. It was a tribute to those who were no longer with them, particularly those who perished at the Battle of Hogwarts. At some point she would come back, have a more private viewing and perhaps carve out her own personal dedications.

"I love it. It's just as you described it would be."

"Well, I have you and Ginny to thank for it."

"Don't be silly. It was your idea. This is what you wanted to do."

"If it hadn't been for you two pestering me to get off my bloody arse and do something with my life this wouldn't have come true. So thank you."

"Fine then. You're welcome but you do know we only pushed for it because we couldn't find a decent place to eat at and hang out around here."

That made them chuckle.

"There is one thing though that you might get some criticism for," she added.

"What?"

"For an Irish owned pub there's no green in it."

"You're bloody right," Seamus laughed, "I'd have to talk with the design group about that."

"This must have cost a fortune to build."

"Well, the labor was dirt cheap and Harry helped me out with a loan, then hooked me up with the goblins for fair financing terms."

"That reminds me, I haven't seen Harry. Has he come yet?"

"He just called, said he was on his way. Something about Ministry paperwork and the grief you're causing him your first day back."

"Right. It's not my fault he has a prick for a partner," she defended herself, knowing it was a jibe. "But I can't believe it's taken him all this time to get that done."

"Actually he checked in to see if the coast was clear thinking it would be too awkward with Ginny here."

That was just ridiculous. They had broken up two months ago and he was avoiding her?

"So what if she is?"

Before Seamus could answer, a man, Dean, got up on the table closest him and pumped his fists in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs, "Yes! She said yes!"

Hermione looked over to Luna. She was blushing, her eyes were twinkling and a steady flow of tears was streaming down her cheeks as she gazed lovingly at Dean's amusing display of exuberance. Hermione connected the dots right away.

"Everyone! She said yes! We're getting married!" Dean explained to the others who didn't get it.

People who knew them cheered and converged towards their booth.

"Well it's about time you asked her you bloody coward!" Seamus was the first to reach his best mate, "But get the fuck off the table before you break it!"

He offered Dean a hand. The latter jumped off and gave Seamus a man hug. There was no question who the best man would be. She and Ginny congratulated Luna who was now wearing a conservative Muggle diamond engagement ring, then as she got to Dean he lifted her effortlessly, hugging her as he swung her around.

"You were right!" Dean said to her as he put her down, "We talked it through and worked it out."

"Good for you," she was almost in tears watching Dean and Luna so excited and happy, and very curious about how they 'worked' it out.

Before she could ask, someone interrupted.

"What's going on?"

Everybody turned towards the familiar voice and stopped talking. It was Harry with another woman (who from now on she would refer to as Bimbo One). The celebration quickly died down. She sensed that it wasn’t so much the presence of Harry and his date that was bothersome but the fact that Ginny was looking on a few feet away, as if she had been slapped in the face. A slow hiss of a curse word escaped Seamus' lips from somewhere behind Hermione muttering something about not knowing Ginny was still there. So that's why Harry called before coming over.

"Dean and Luna just got engaged," Ginny answered when the rest of them seemed to have lost the ability to speak.

Harry and his date congratulated the couple as did his partner Gates, who Hermione just noticed was with him. He too had a date.

The obnoxious man said to Seamus disparagingly, “And you call this a party?”

Seamus announced another free round of drinks for his best friend's engagement perhaps to relieve some of the awkwardness. He herded the newly engaged couple and a grateful crowd to the bar leaving Ginny, Harry and Bimbo One by themselves at the booth. Hermione hovered in the fringe in case she was needed.

"How are you, Gin?" Harry asked attentively.

"Just fine.”

She was dying…Hermione contemplated to rescue vs. not rescue. It was a fine line between having your ex realize you were hurting by escaping versus him finding out anyway because you stayed too long and didn’t. If only Ginny would give her a sign.

“And you?"

"I'm okay," he replied then Bimbo One cleared her throat. He introduced her, "By the way, this is um…um…"

At least he tried to. Hermione wanted to laugh.

"Jezebel Frump," Bimbo One extended a handshake. "And you are?"

Ginny did not take it , replying without emotion, "Let's not kid ourselves. You know who I am."

Bimbo One smiled and leaned into Harry suggestively, who being a typical man did not even notice. What a bitch!

"Gin, we're going to be late," Hermione got to Ginny, summoned their purses from a nearby table and made up a lie before her friend totally lost it, "Kyle and Justin are waiting."

Ginny was not together at that point. Hermione got her out of Finnigan's and back to her flat right away where she broke down and sobbed for a long time. Hermione held her but knowing no words of comfort would help, she didn't even try. It was better to just let it all out.

When it seemed Ginny couldn't cry anymore she pulled away and said to Hermione, "I've been thinking. What Luna said tonight makes sense."

"Which one?"

None of them really did…

"Maybe it's not meant to be."

Hermione could not blame her for finding comfort in Luna's words. To each his own.

"Maybe. What do you want to do?"

"I'm letting go," Ginny said quietly.

Fresh tears erupted from her eyes. Hermione kept her company until Ginny thanked her and then asked her to leave.

It was four a.m. when Hermione got into the Ministry owned flat she was renting, took a quick shower and went to bed. There was one burning thought on her mind as she drifted off to sleep.

Of all the other women in London, what the hell was Harry thinking going out with a floozy?

She would definitely have a word with him about that.

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A/N. Thoughts on the Hermione-Warren thing? Remind you of something?

Quick poll about ‘meant to be’/’fate’ – who do you agree with more (Luna or Hermione)?

Up next, the day after Finnigan’s opened from Harry’s POV and likely, Harry and Hermione dinner and drinks after work – looking forward to writing this one .

17. Could, Would, Should

A/N. Thanks to those who answered the quick poll question. Most hovered over the middle of the spectrum.

Sorry - no Harry Hermione dinner in this one - will definitely be on the next. Harry got a bit carried away with his thoughts about his break up with Ginny and his POV about Hermione's struggles as a rookie Auror.

This chapter doesn't really move the story along but necessary to show how a relationship can deteriorate, so for those who really just want progress and don't like reading that sort of stuff, you might want to skip it.

And a warning to those who detest reading H-G, some of his thoughts about her might make you gag.

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Chapter 17 - Could, Should, Would

Harry got off the Floo Network and zoomed past Phil the Paper Elf at the Daily Prophet stand. Already running late, he had to maneuver his way through the chaos of the eternal construction in the Atrium causing a bottleneck of beings trying to get to and from the elevators, cursing the powers that be who could not make up their minds about what to do with the open space.

He finally got to a lift. The adrenaline rush was keeping him quite alert despite the fact that he didn't get much sleep last night and had a really bad hangover. It was unexpected. He didn't count on seeing Ginny at Finnigan's and it took a while to convince the woman he was with, whose name eluded him at the moment, that he wasn't in the mood to spend more time with her.

With the single mindedness of a Thestral heading for a set destination he found the Auror assembly room and immediately scanned the spot on the dais. Good. The Head Auror was not there yet, his weekly team meeting apparently delayed for another fifteen minutes. He nodded over to the middle aged bespectacled wizard with graying hair seated on the front row but the man either didn't see him do so or more likely just did not want to reply.

Deputy Auror Hosiah Humptail did not like him very much and firmly believed he got into the Auror Office only because of who he was. Humptail had been watching him like a hawk since he was recruited, waiting for him to make a mistake. This seemed truer since John assigned him squad leader when he got back from Hag training. He had already been cautioned by his possible future boss for being tardy at a briefing two days ago and was considering cutting down on the night outs or at least staying away from his bad influence of a partner. It was in desperation that he entrusted Warren with his education on single male life in London and now he was having serious regrets.

The rest of the Central Division Auror team was trickling in and finding seats. He spotted Dean's dreadlocks over in the back on the far side of the room and made for one of the empty chairs beside him. Sliding into the seat between his newly engaged Hogwarts classmate and Warren, he noted that his current partner of three months was as sleep deprived as he was and was taking a nap.

"Hey," he greeted Dean, "Luna get back okay?"

"Yeah, early this morning. Any word on Gaunt?"

"No, not yet. We'll get him next time," he replied.

Warren, obviously not asleep, let out a grunt. He was not one to forgive easily and expressed his ire the entire afternoon they spent filling out paperwork about the Wasabi Hut incident. He was miffed more so because they lost the services of an integral team member, one who would be difficult to replace. Warren's injured Canadian co-worker was in town a total of two days and was going home as soon as she was cleared from St. Mungo's. Hermione was right; they should have arrested Gaunt when they had the chance.

"Where's Hermione?"

Dean motioned over to the double doors where Hermione had just come through, levitating several self-warming coffee and tea cups behind her. She looked like she didn't get much sleep either and he had one good guess where she spent most of the night.

He sighed inwardly. This breaking up thing was hard and had he known that night it was going to be so he might not have called Ginny's bluff. Had she broached the subject on a different day and in a different way he would have probably let it slide but on hindsight it was only a matter of time before what happened happened. His inability to become more of an "emotional partner" was a festering gaping wound which seemed to have opened up right after he got back from his training with the Hag. The strain of six months without communication and his inability to tell her about it affected them in a way he never imagined it would. He had tried to address it several times but failed.

You're not trying hard enough.

He was, well, he did. It was just that he understood her and didn't at the same time. For instance, one burning beef she had was about how he couldn't or, as she often said, 'refused' to talk to her about what he did at work. It was true but it wasn't because he didn't want to talk; he really couldn't.

As soon as she asked about the job his reflexive answer was it was okay. They discussed mundane stuff; seeing an acquaintance, someone getting married, being invited over for dinner by a colleague but they couldn't really talk about the stuff he did. A typical argument began with something she read in or heard from someone at the Prophet.

You know I can't talk about that.

Why not?

It's an active case. There are rules.

I tell you what I do.

Gin, I'm sorry but telling you would not only endanger your life but that of my team too. Be reasonable.

Ginny would back off knowing he was right. Her frustration was more because there was nothing they could do about it. Many times she mentioned that she should have done what Hermione did and become an Auror too but he knew she didn't really mean that. She loved Quidditch and worked hard so she could get off the farm team. He was ecstatic she was getting her shot at playing professionally.

But whether it was spillover from the work thing or something entirely separate, Ginny had other axes to grind. She complained about not talking about important things. Truth be told he didn't know exactly what she wanted him to say or talk about. The one topic that was a constant pain was Voldemort. Ginny was a light sleeper and on occasion when he spent the night with her she would wake up in the early hours of the morning and find him restless, mumbling, sweating, as the horrors of the war replayed in his dreams.

She asked about the nightmares and he tried to answer but his responses never seemed enough, accusing him once that he was hiding stuff from her. Admittedly, he may have answered them briefly but maybe he should have been more honest about not desiring to rehash the past. Living them once and having vivid nightmares about them were certainly enough, and despite what the Healer shrinks recommended, he was not thrilled about talking about them over and over again.

There were others, little things.

It's too bad about Ron and Hermione.

Yes it is.

Is that all you can say about that?

What else were you expecting?

I don't know…whose fault do you think it is? Could they have done something differently to stay together? Do you think they should stay together?

Okay…I don't think either of them is at fault, if they could have done something differently, definitely argue less and no, I don't think they should stay together.

Ugh!

What?

Patience was never one of Ginny's stronger suits and the more annoyed she became the more pissed he got too. They didn't have the shouting arguments that Ron and Hermione had but worse. They had these bouts of long silences between them, as if speaking to the other first was an admission of being wrong. He thought it was juvenile and he by his count caved in more times than she did, making him think himself the better person, only to realize that the fact that he was counting meant he really wasn't.

They were doing fine and then they weren't. The past months were different from the way things were before and he was at a loss how that happened. What did he miss? They loved each other, didn't they? Wasn't that supposed to be enough to make everything right?

At the height of it all when he finally got to a point thinking there was nothing more he could do to please her, he employed his typical conflict resolution method. He began ignoring it after they made up. He thought...hoped it was just a phase and it would go away.

He was so wrong about that. One night, after Humptail had given him grief all day and his self worth and confidence about his role at the Ministry was at an all time low, he went to her for comfort, reassurance and more comfort. It started out okay until they had to talk about why he felt so down and beat up.

What's wrong?

Just work.

Bad day?

Uh-huh.

What happened?

Don't worry about it. I'll be fine.

No, really, I want to hear about it.

I can't tell you. You know that.

If I were Hermione you would.

What?!

If Hermione asked you wouldn't hesitate to tell her what this is about.

What does she have to do with this?

Is it too much to ask you to talk to me like you talk to her?

Have you gone mad?! I don't talk to her any differently! And I don't understand why you're picking on her when I haven't even talked to her in six months!

Then she just gave it to him, how she felt that she was just some fan girl thing of his, that he made her feel that she was good enough for that but not for this, how she couldn't anymore unless he made her feel more like an emotional partner rather than a physical one. Hearing that he just lost it. He had enough and the accusation that it was all physical for him stung like hell. Too angry he was afraid to say anything he would regret so he left.

The days after were surreal. He buried himself under a ton of work as he waited for her to realize how wrong she was. But the apology never came. All this time did she really feel like a fan girl? Harry couldn't begin to imagine how she could ever think that. And that bit about Hermione; they'd been together for so many years and not once did that ever come up.

Harry could not keep track of the many times he was tempted to call Ginny or hoped she would call him but she broke up with him for a reason. She wanted him to change and, even if he knew what exactly to change and how, he wasn't sure he could. And if he could he debated whether or not he should. He kept on telling himself if he loved her as he knew he did he should but that was quickly followed by thinking that if she really cared about him she shouldn't expect him to. If she loved him she would stop this nonsense, call him and take him back. Or maybe that was Warren telling him to snap out of it already.

So, at the one month anniversary of his break up with the first love of his life when hope of reconciling with her had just about faded away, Warren tried to help in his unorthodox way. His partner got him a date and convinced him to, for one night, just give himself a break and have a good time.

Warren would never admit it but based on what that woman did to him she had to be a hired professional, maybe even part-Veela. The date went um…well but he felt horrible in the morning. It was shameful that he did it and it was unimaginable to face Ginny. She deserved someone better.

It was silly but after that he was afraid that she would call and they'd get back together. Then, a few days later, he had a most interesting talk with Luna that made him feel less distressed about the whole break up. This was three weeks ago.

My Mum used to say things happen for a reason.

Yes, I'm a git. There's one big hell of a reason.

Don't be too hard on yourself, Harry. You're a good man. If you weren't, we wouldn't be friends.

You're not mad at me because I'm dating other women?

Why would I be? I tell Ginny to go out with other men so she can find out whether or not what she longs for is out there.

But what if she finds someone else.

Then you should be happy for her. It will be what's meant to be.

I miss her Luna. I want her back but I don't know if I can be what she wants me to be.

You shouldn't worry about that. What isn't will never last and if you truly love someone, what is is enough. This happened for a reason and it's good that it did sooner rather than later. You should think of it as a blessing.

Luna wasn't the only one who thought it was a blessing. Warren did not mince words about the fact that there were other women out there besides Ginny and maybe he'd find someone better.

But Harry at that time wasn't looking to replace. He had been content and happy with what he had. He had this vision that it would last forever. It was Ginny who was dissatisfied.

After talking with Luna he came to accept that they shouldn't get back together until Ginny could take him as he was. He figured it likely that she would never get to that point and had made peace with it. The Ravenclaw was right. Changing just to please Ginny would be the wrong thing to do.

It will be what's meant to be.

Maybe so but Harry still couldn't imagine how this was going to be a blessing.

"Mats, steeped tea, no milk just honey..."

He looked up as Hermione's voice interrupted his revelry, finding her just a few rows over.

"Thanks honey," the almost retired Auror said to her sweetly as he took the cup from her, Mats Quank being the only person to his knowledge who had explicit permission to call her that.

"You're welcome honey. Geoff, bold coffee with two creams, no sugar," she addressed another wizard, firmly emphasizing the no sugar part, handing him his cup.

"Okay," Geoff Lintcoming replied, resigned to Hermione's intervention as it was well known he had been ill and Healers had told him to cut back. "Great to have you back."

Hermione went through a couple more aisles handing out hot beverages. It was her thing, a morning routine she had fallen into years ago when she was a rookie. Everybody moaned and groaned when they noticed that part of their day was missing after she left for Hag training eight months ago, and now that she was back, they were all a bit more appreciative, not that they weren't before.

Harry watched her as she spoke with the other Aurors. It was as if she hadn't been gone, fitting back seamlessly into the flow of things.

After Voldemort's death, she spent a couple of years at the old DRCMC, the first working full time the same time she did Hogwarts course work to graduate and to take the NEWTs. In the time she was there she had helped create and institute many pro magical being laws and left right as the DRCMC was being renamed the Department for the Protection of Magical Creatures or the DPMC.

It wasn't a shock to him that she left the DPMC. The work she wanted to do there was done. What surprised him was that she applied to become an Auror. It was a bit strange for he could not imagine her spending her day looking for and apprehending Dark Wizards herself. He imagined her behind the scenes, effecting change peacefully through policies and laws as she did in the DPMC and not through policing and keeping order.

Harry never told her but he was tempted to discourage her from joining the Auror office. As much as he wanted to work with her he believed she was wasting her brilliance. Being an Auror required a fraction of her intelligence and if not for the fact that Ron was really excited about it he would have mentioned it to her. In his opinion it made more sense for her to accept Kingsley's standing offer to join his team of advisers, something she declined citing her inexperience. But she seemed sure this was what she wanted to do so he let it go.

As he expected, Hermione had a tough time adjusting to being an Auror when she first came on three years ago. Her difficulties had nothing to do with wand work or fitting into the team. The Aurors had a lot of respect for her because of what she did to help get rid of Voldemort and most immediately accepted her because of him and Ron.

Part of her struggle stemmed from the fact that she wasn't physically fit enough. Being an Auror was demanding on the body and she had to work hard to get her strength and endurance up. Dean helped her a lot with this and she had always said that if not for her partner, she would have quit two months into her rookie year. But that wasn't her biggest problem.

What bogged her down the most were the processes and procedures, or more specifically, the lack of congruence between written rules and actual practice, and how all that connected to the rest of the Ministry, particularly the Legal department. The Auror MOO had not been revised and probably not been read since 1975. Faced with a novel situation, while most rookies patiently awaited instruction and guidance from their seniors, Hermione applied the MOO only to find out later that based on recent practice she shouldn't have done what she did.

The lack of clear cut rules and protocols frustrated her very much, and was on the verge of quitting when Dean challenged her to update the MOO. Not having a current one to defend their practice in court had been a source of frustration for others too. So Hermione took on the huge undertaking during her spare time, consulting with active and retired Aurors, putting together the new document for approval. It was then when she got to know the rest of the team better and when she started this thing with coffee and tea during their weekly meetings. The revised code passed peer, supervisor and management approval without a hitch last year so when her MOO came up in her discourse with Warren yesterday he already knew they were in deep shit.

Hermione settled in after that. Harry never got around to asking her why she wanted to become an Auror. He speculated that Ron was a big factor in her decision and now that they were no longer a couple he imagined she would not be staying for long. He brushed that thought off feeling it too ridiculous. Hermione would never base her decision to become an Auror or to stay an Auror on something like that.

"Good morning," he greeted cautiously as Hermione approached.

"Black," she greeted him back coldly and handed him a steaming double cupped coffee.

It almost tipped into him. Well, he had wondered how she would feel about his break-up with Ginny and the incident last night. He didn't have to wonder anymore.

"Thanks. After work then?"

She muttered some affirmative reply, handed Dean a cup and sat down beside her partner with tea in her hand. Yesterday they had talked about spending some time to catch up. Harry hoped she'd be in a better frame of mind later.

He missed her and he also missed Ron who left London weeks before she did. Even though he saw Ron often enough he missed how it was before Hermione and Ron split up. He longed for their company when Ginny dumped him which at that time made him feel like a dolt. He was a grown man; surely he could handle a break up on his own. It did kind of make him wonder if this was what Ginny was complaining about.

"So, where's mine, sweetheart?" Warren shifted in his seat, interrupting as Hermione was about to take a sip of her tea, his tone haughty, condescending and self entitled.

Harry saw her freeze, her eyes squint ever so slightly and there was no mistaking the tightening around her jaw. Not again. Hermione turned to Warren looking past Dean and him. Warren met her gaze with smug indifference.

"I didn't know you wanted one," she answered calmly.

"You never asked."

"You were sleeping. I didn't want to disturb you."

"How sweet, but I still want one. Get me something. Please," Warren ordered.

"You can have mine," Harry offered his partner his, not wanting trouble.

"Don't be silly Harry. I got this," Hermione dismissed then addressed Warren, "What would you like?"

"Um...I don't know. I wouldn't mind tea, maybe Earl Grey with a touch of lemon."

That was exactly what Hermione had in her hand. In the time he had known the man not once did Harry see him have tea. The fool was showing off, purposely trying to tick her off, or both, and Harry could only hope that there was some other way Warren found out how she preferred her tea other than invading her mind without her knowing just now, something he knew Warren would do without second thought.

"What a coincidence," Hermione replied feigning surprise, hiding her irritation at the possibility, "That's what I'm having."

"It isn't a coincidence, honey," Warren countered, flashing her a half-smile, "It's fate, me wanting the same tea that you want."

"I doubt that very much," Hermione said coolly, "Fate wouldn't be so stupid, or cheesy. Creep."

"Ouch!" Warren took both hands over his chest, acting hurt.

Hermione expressed his very same sentiment. Warren was a creep when it came to women. Harry wasn't sure if he was seriously hitting on her but if he was it was certainly in the wrong place, the wrong time and in poor taste.

"Stop being a prat, Warren," he shot him a warning which the other wizard chose to ignore.

"Come to think of it you're right. So it's not fate and it's not a coincidence," Warren pulled back then confirmed Harry's earlier fears, "It must be because you didn't learn as much as you should have from the Hag. I really didn't want to mention it but you're so porous and open like everyone else here, I could see every living memory you have in full color if I choose to."

"Go fuck with someone else Gates. I am so not in the mood," Hermione was more visibly annoyed and glanced over to him to see if it was true.

Harry shook his head but that didn't mean anything. Only a handful of wizards and witches could do Legilimency without raising the target's suspicion. He had learned to do it with the Hag, as did Warren and he assumed Hermione. Warren was better at it than he was and because intrinsically he found the concept of getting into someone else's thoughts without their knowledge wrong, not to mention cowardly. Warren had no such inhibitions.

"Speaking of fucking, I wouldn't call your ex if I were you. There are less idiotic ways to cure loneliness. Hell, if you promise to wear one of those black lacy sheer knickers you keep in your top drawer for special occasions I'll even help you myself."

It was payback for yesterday. Hermione face reddened. Dean attempted to get up from his chair and would have done more had his partner not held him down, convincing him it wasn't worth the trouble. He sat backed slowly drawing on his coffee, giving Warren a murderous look. Harry would have no more of Warren's bullshit.

"I said back off!" he admonished firmly.

Warren did but not without a parting shot, "And the chauvinist pig just scored."

Meanwhile the Head Auror stepped into the room. Hermione had recovered, righted herself, eyes fixed at the podium, and was trying to enjoy the rest of her tea. She was taking this too lightly, taking the high road and it annoyed Warren that she wasn't upset.

"I guess you don't mind," he hissed over John's introduction, trying to provoke her again.

"Oh, I don't mind," she lied, "Fantasize about my knickers all you want, Gates. If you find that it helps with your flag raising issues, be my guest."

Warren blushed, Dean almost choked and sprayed coffee at the person seated two rows in front of him, Harry's was speechless he had to confirm that it was indeed Hermione who said that.

"My flag raises up the pole just fine, honey," Warren instantly denied.

"Well, not according to that girl you were with the last night. She wasn't too impressed with O Canada."

"How did you...?"

"You shouldn't date co workers. Office gossip can be a bitch. By the way, I hope it's hot enough."

"What?"

"Your tea."

His partner suddenly bellowed and stood up as a cup of steaming beverage appeared on his lap and poured itself empty. All four of them were off their seats, the attention of the entire room upon them.

Not long after, wands were out and a burst of curses erupted before him. Harry rapidly drew his weapon, disarming them both before they could cause real injury or damage.

"Keep your fucking mind to yourself," she threatened Warren as she summoned and holstered her wand.

"Granger! Gates! In my office! Now!" John Dawlish screamed from the podium, most pissed, giving Harry the look that he should follow.

The door slammed behind him.

"I told you two to can it yesterday!"

"We did."

"We have."

Hermione had her arms across her chest just as Warren did, both feigning puzzlement about why they were called in.

"Then what the hell just happened in there?!"

"He wanted tea," she explained simply.

"I did," he confirmed.

"I got him some."

"The cup slipped from my hand and I burned myself," he added.

"It was an accident," they said in unison.

Warren and Hermione tried to sell convincingly. They were not done and would settle this, whatever it was, outside Ministry time.

Harry was still in shock about this Hermione that he was seeing. There was a time when just the thought of her being reprimanded by her superior would have worried her. She wasn't concerned about that. And not only was she a part of this, she seemed disinclined to settle it peacefully which was quite unlike her. It was as if the person before him was an imposter and a very bad one at that.

"Harry?" John turned to him for his input as the two looked on innocently.

"It was an accident, John. Just as they described it."

He had a feeling he was going to regret this.

John eyed them suspiciously but gave in, "Not one more peep from the two of you, understood."

"Yes sir."

"Not one."

The two left. John asked him to stay behind and said to him, "Harry, fix this by tomorrow. You don't want this compromising the team."

"I'll take care of it."

Harry sat quietly during the meeting fully appreciating the 'joys' of middle management. He looked at Warren on his one side and Hermione on the other, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. This was too familiar and he didn't like where it was going.

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18. Remedial Divination

A/N. First part is Hermione at work then she has dinner with her friend Harry.

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Chapter 18 - Remedial Divination

"Is that an Erumpent's horn?" Hermione asked the shop keeper from the other side of a glass counter, her long crooked fingernails pointing to the hollow tusk heavily wrapped by cushioning charms.

It was late afternoon and she was in her fourth disguise for the day, this time dressed as an old hag that looked somewhat like the Hag on one of her better days. One of the stores she was watching had finally displayed something illegal and she was looking into what else they had that would be of interest.

"Yes, North American, just came in today," answered the middle aged saleswizard who seemed unenthusiastic to sell anything.

"How much?"

He eyed her disparagingly from head to toe, then stared at the wart on her hooked nose, judging, "You can't afford it."

"Sonny, do I look like a dimwit who'd want one for myself?" she replied snidely, "I'm asking for someone who's interested, moron, someone who's too rich and will never get caught setting foot in this filth."

The man livened up and asked, "Would that someone be interested in anything else?"

Cautious not to be accused of entrapment, she retorted, "Maybe. Depends on what other crap you have."

"Let me ask the boss in the back," the wizard replied and disappeared past the door that was behind him.

She pretended to study supposedly rare goblin stones and gems inside the transparent casings for a bit, then, certain she was alone, spoke softly into the Hags Against Discrimination pin on her lapel, "I may have something."

Dean got her message through their two way bluetooth device and she heard his reply via the minute receiver in her ear.

"It's about time. I'm closing up shop."

He was outside, a few stores down posing as a street stall keeper selling harmless contraband potion. They had been complaining to each other all day about how slow a day it was for dark wizardry in the alley as most of the crimes committed were petty and weren't worth blowing their cover for. They both hated doing Knockturn Alley because it was always this boring and they typically ended the day with nothing to show for.

It was Hit Wizard duty that John had committed Aurors to do once a week. He said it was to improve camaraderie and help their colleagues but what it was really was him showing he was a good team player and in the process wisely creating his unofficial doghouse. She and, by extension, her partner had earned it that morning. Dean had been supportive, telling her the entertainment she provided the team was worth serving penance for.

Thankfully the day had gone by rather quickly. She couldn't wait to get back to the Ministry with Dean and grill him on what exactly he and Luna talked about last night. He had been evasive about it that morning and they had not had a moment to talk at all since arriving at their assignment. She sensed that he was not eager to share it which only made her want to know even more.

She checked up on the saleswizard and detected him in one of the backrooms with another human figure. This was taking way too long. They might as well bust them for the horn and figure out the rest later.

"Ready?" she asked her partner.

"In a sec."

Hermione looked at the timeteller. She was meeting Harry after work too. That morning, it upset her when he came in late looking very tired, unable to stop herself from immediately jumping to a revolting conclusion. She prayed she was wrong but even just the memory of Bimbo One touching him last night made her insides curl. That was who he replaced Ginny with?! It was downright insulting and even made her wonder, albeit briefly, whether Ginny was right about what he wanted out of a relationship. She'd definitely have a word with him about that.

Between Dean, him and that creep of partner of his her mind had not had a spare moment of idleness that day. Her jaw clenched involuntarily just thinking about Gates. There were not enough despicable words to adequately describe that sorry excuse for an Auror. It annoyed her that his HR file consisted of one parchment documenting the open ended 'temporary' transfer to the London Ministry, indicating he got into the force because someone high up got him in. She had to ask someone who knew someone who knew someone who had to pay someone who knew someone to get her the information she needed.

She wasn't too thrilled to hear the off the record true story but it was what it was. Really, in the scheme of things, it didn't matter. Gates was still a jerk and her goal was to expeditiously divest the London Ministry of his services, the sooner the better.

Don't get mad. Get even.

That was Hagspeak, one of the few things Hermione agreed with her ex-teacher about because it made perfect sense. She still had trouble with the not-getting-mad part but she was trying to redirect her energies into getting even. First she had to find out which high ranking Ministry official got Gates in and who she was about to annoy.

Harry likely knew about this which would explain his acceptance of the asshole but even so she was displeased that Harry was tolerating if not embracing Gates' inclusion into the team. As subtle as it was the Harry she saw with Gates was not the Harry she knew, and she liked the old Harry better. Or maybe that was coincidence and her disappointment in Harry had more to do with how bad he was making Ginny feel than with anything else.

Thinking about it more now she felt guilty about her abruptness with him this morning. It was unimaginable that Harry would deliberately hurt Ginny and either way she had no right to be angry. It would be nice to hear his side of the story, although she did anticipate that getting him to talk about it could pose a challenge.

She looked at the timeteller again. That saleswizard sure was taking his sweet time. And where was Dean?

"Fuck," Dean hissed, "I've got trouble. I'm gonna need help."

"I'm on my way."

No questions asked, she stepped out of the store and immediately saw what he meant. Eight thugs were headed for his folded up stall with purpose.

"Stay back for a bit," Dean whispered, "Let me see what they want first."

Hermione did as he asked. She 'window-shopped' and slowly made her way closer to him while watching them off the glass reflection. They had Dean surrounded and she quickly went through the possible scenarios in her head.

"Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"

One of the wizards answered, "What are you selling?"

"Potions for every need. Would you like to sample one of pure euphoria?"

"Maybe next time. That'll be twenty percent of your receipts for the day."

They hit a gold mine. For days the MLE had heard rumours about someone sending thugs to the 'hardworking' dregs in Knockturn Alley and charging them for protection. It wasn't so much that they cared about lowlifes being taken advantage of by lower-lives but they were interested in the lower-life who was marking territory, if the word on the street was true. They just confirmed that it was. She called it in as she listened to Dean playing dumb and asking the gang of goons to explain exactly what it was they meant.

"Granger here. Thomas just attracted our elusive tax collectors. I'm counting eight."

"I'll send back-up," Hank Trussel, her squad leader, told her through her mobile, "We need a name."

"He's working on it."

Dean was and it was best to assume they would be on their own. When Trussel sent back-up it was usually too little too late. She ran her plan by Dean.

"Take out the one in the back and to your right first, I'll cover your left then we'll divvy up the leftovers."

"I'm okay with it," Dean answered addressing both her and the leader of the group, "Really, I have no problem about paying tax, I just wanna know who I'm paying it to and whose protection it is I'll expect when the time comes."

"You ask too many questions. Our boss doesn't like questions."

It took a split second.

"Stupefy!" a bad guy yelled out.

Dean had already pulled the brute closest him and used him as a shield against the incoming curse, hexing the one behind him just when the impact of the first spell caused him to fall back. She fired a couple of shots to draw the enemy's attention and, as they scattered, she Apparated to a spot a few feet to Dean's left, his weak side.

Curses flew all over the place, the screams of bystanders blending with the crashing sounds of destruction around them. They had tenuous cover behind Dean's and an adjacent stall but before they could even begin to systematically disable their foes, the opposition ceased fire. The dust settled, five thugs were dead, one was severely incapacitated and two others escaped. Hermione couldn't retrieve useful information from their injured prisoner except for the image of a bearded wizard in a Fedora hat who she recognized as Gaunt.

"Geez, remind me not to get on your bad side these days," Dean commented as he surveyed the scene, "A bit of an overkill for loose change shakers don't you think?"

"This wasn't me," Hermione clarified.

It wasn't Dean either. Interesting.

Dean thought so too, "I don't see how anyone else could have helped us."

"That guy knows Gaunt," she told Dean pointing to the wizard she just Legilimienced, thinking possibilities, "My bet is he's behind the tax collection. Maybe he ordered the two others to make sure we won't have any prisoners."

"But that's like cutting your nose to spite your face. What hooligan will work for you if they know you have no problem killing them?"

"Doesn't make much sense, does it?" Hermione agreed as their backup finally arrived, "Hopefully Forensics can help us out."

They had no such luck. An hour later, Forensics was still drawing a blank but they took statements from witnesses and priori information from all the wands on the crime scene, including theirs. They would try to reconstruct the events that afternoon. The dead were identified as out-of-towners, young men from good middle class wizarding families without any criminal history. That was troubling.

When Hermione and Dean got back to the Ministry John called them into his office, giving them grief for the deaths and for not expecting it.

"That was my fault, John. It’s usually my job to ensure the scum who want to kill us aren’t killing each other too,” she replied with sarcasm, irritated that she had been called into his office for the third time in two days and this last one was not warranted.

Dean sniggered, unable to contain himself. John gave them the look and sent them away to do their paperwork. As Dean complained about the lengthy reports they had to finish she thought about John's unreasonable reaction. He seemed more stressed than before and it probably had a lot to do with the up and coming Morpheus Gaunt. Her gut told her that the Wasabi Hut incident was key. She wasn't sure if Harry had already mentioned to John how interested she was about the case he and his partner were working on but considering John was quite pissed with her she couldn't ask her boss now.

Note to self...don't piss John off...more than necessary.

By the time they were finished with their reports it was dark outside. Unfortunately she'd have to wait another day to find out from Dean how he and Luna were going to work things out. There was a West Ham game on that night and Dean usually watched that over at his Mum's house with his half-brothers and their rowdy Muggle friends.

It was quarter past eight when she finally got to a packed Finnigan's. Scanning the predominantly young crowd, she found Harry at the bar, a pint in his hand, talking to a dark woman in a short skirt who was wearing a blouse two sizes too small with two missing buttons at the top. That was fitting. Bimbo Two. Harry would know better than bring a date to their meeting, wouldn't he? Her eyes rolled up on their own when she noticed at least three other groups of giggly girls about their age eyeing Harry from afar.

Just like flies...well, vultures circling.

Hermione understood. Their prey was Harry Potter, vanquisher of the darkest wizard of their time, enigmatic Auror, the epitome of what a good wizard should be, and except for having perpetually messy hair, was not bad looking at all. Admittedly, she thought he looked better with spectacles even though for practicality and safety she was the one who suggested permanently repairing his vision. She demonstrated its imperativeness by merely summoning his eyeglasses when she helped him prepare for his Auror entry exams.

Harry was no longer the scrawny kid she knew at Hogwarts for age, training and Weasley 'proper nutrition' (at least until he and Ginny broke up) had filled him in quite well in a sort of understated way. He did not have bulging muscles but one could tell underneath the dark blue sweater and jeans he had on he was lean and fit. She knew that for a fact having seen him half naked a few times.

As if all that wasn't enough, Witch's Weekly came out that morning and announced that the eligible bachelor was 'desperately seeking'. That was obviously not from Harry for even if he was desperate he would never tell everyone that he was.

Bimbo Two chortled and dipped forward into him suggestively almost spilling portions of her out. Ugh.

It was a good thing that over time she had more control of her impulsivity otherwise the image of canaries attacking and chasing the woman away would have materialized. She never thought it would be this bothersome seeing him with other women maybe because she never thought he ever would see anyone else besides Ginny. She couldn't understand why this irked her as much as the time when Ron was snogging someone else back at Hogwarts and could only conclude she was either jealous for Ginny or angry at the fact that Harry was letting this happen. Or maybe it was both.

This set off the Hag in her head again. She swore to Merlin the bitch had some sort of curse unknown to the Spell Registry that made memories about her difficult to suppress.

It is okay to care about him more than you want or more than you think is appropriate.

I don't know why you insist on flogging a dead horse. Harry and I are just friends.

I do not dispute that you are. But that does not have anything to do with what you feel. It is destiny that you do.

I already told you. I don't believe in destiny.

Ignorance does not excuse you from its eventuality. You can fight it all you want but you will never win. It's like you thinking that you want to be an Auror.

I am an Auror, in your Auror training program. Or did you forget that and had me under something else because that would explain why I haven't learned much?

You have learned more than you think but still not as much as you would have had you not resisted. You will not be an Auror for much longer. That's why for some time you haven't been training as such.

So what the fuck am I doing here?!

You tell me.

Hermione never got a satisfactory answer to the question. Soon after that conversation, she told the Hag that she no longer required further training. That was such a waste of her time, she thought, as she made her way over to him through the crowd. Harry finally spotted her, their eyes met, he smiled easily and nodded.

He's just a friend.

Harry got off the barstool, excused himself and shook hands with the woman. It was a relief that Bimbo Two wasn't staying but before he could pick up his drink from the counter the glaringly unnatural red head grabbed his hand and scribbled something on his palm. Hermione guessed phone number. Geez...

Note to self…never ever do something as chintzy as giving your number to a guy who didn't ask for it.

"Glad you finally got here," he greeted her, seemingly relieved, and handed her a screwdriver.

"Sorry I'm late. Someone you know?" she asked him about the woman, taking a big swallow to wash down the lump in her throat and the biting remark that was at the tip of her tongue.

She knew the answer to that but just wanted to see how he would respond.

"No. Someone I just met," Harry replied without much thought, just as she hoped, "Come on. I got us a table. I'm famished."

"I was thinking. You don't mind terribly if we eat somewhere else where we can talk about work, do you?"

But Harry had a better idea. They could have a quick bite to eat so Seamus wouldn't feel slighted and then go to his or her place for dessert; preferably hers as his was a mess. She was intrigued that he had to talk to her about work too.

So they sat at a corner booth, summoned one of the virtual servers and ordered when the computer generated waiter she selected appeared beside them. She found that she was hungry too and opted for steak as Harry did.

"It's really good that you're back," he said to her as they waited, slowly drawing on their drinks.

"It's good to be back."

"How did you find it?"

"Honestly?"

"That bad huh," Harry surmised accurately.

"It was frustrating and disappointing. I thought I was in hell. She's judgmental, condescending, mean and lazy. Six self study days per week? Some lesson plan. I barely saw her, and when I did she barely taught anything. Tell me it wasn't just me who noticed."

Hermione awaited confirmation.

"It wasn't just you," he supported her, found her rant entertaining and teased, "But don't hold back on account of me, please."

"And Ministries all over the world actually pay her to train Aurors?!" she continued, "Total waste and in my opinion, she wasn't worth one knut of what she was getting."

"I don't suppose you have a watered down version for the Boss."

Of course she did. She made one up for John but he never asked for it. The Hag must have already sent a report.

"I have never been in a more challenging learning environment in my entire life," she summarized for him straight faced and drew a chuckle.

"John would definitely like that version better."

"You think so, huh? You should stop looking so amused," she chastised lightheartedly, "I have a beef with you."

Several actually but it was early and she was hungry.

"What did I do?" he answered feigning worry.

"You told me the Hag taught you a lot."

When she asked him what to expect from the Hag that was his cryptic answer. He did not expound on it because he didn't want to ruin it for her.

"She did. But I never said she was pleasant about it. She's called the Hag for good reason."

Harry knew she wasn't really blaming him for that. She was handpicked by the Hag just as he was and it was an 'honor' because the Hag supposedly chose and trained only the best. Hermione would have gone no matter what Harry told her.

"Well I didn't learn as much as I thought I would."

"That's too bad but then you know a lot more than most of us. There probably wasn't much for her to teach," Harry was being kind and Hermione was convinced it wasn't that at all. He took a swig and then asked, "Why didn't you just leave sooner?"

"I wanted to a month into it but before I could tell her she called me a quitter. I stayed to prove a point," Harry was about to say something but she said it for him, "I know I walked right into that one."

Hermione sighed as she remembered how the Hag said she wasn't going to be an Auror for long. She had been too upset to ask the Hag why she thought so and not knowing made Hermione feel less confident about her skills. She kept on thinking that the Hag didn't believe she had what it took to be a good one and had made a mistake in choosing her. Harry would be biased but she had to know.

"Can I ask you something and I need you to be very honest."

"Sure."

"How am I as an Auror?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're a squad leader. If you were to evaluate my performance objectively, what would you say?"

"You're excellent."

So asking him to be objective was a little too much. She wasn't excellent; exceeds expectations maybe but not excellent.

"But…" she prompted.

Harry hesitated. There was a 'but' after all and it was big.

"I don't want you taking this the wrong way and it's just one person's opinion so I hope you don't make any rash conclusions."

"Enough with the preamble, you're scaring me. John said something really bad about me, didn't he? No? Humptail? Trussel?"

"None of that sort. Will you stop second guessing yourself? You're really good at what you do," he scolded her then added seriously, "It's just that you're wasting your time and your brilliance. You could do so much more if you weren’t an Auror. Being one is in a way beneath you and it's kind of holding you back."

She frowned, "Really? I certainly don't feel that way."

"That's just my opinion and I could be way off," he shrugged, "Why are you asking anyway? Why the insecurity?"

"The Hag said I won't be an Auror for long so she didn't train me to be an Auror," she said it as emotionless as she could, feeing embarrassed about it.

"Then what the hell was she training you for?"

"I'm not sure. When I met with her most of the time she goaded me into joining philosophical discussions about the future, destiny, death, and how the use of magic can make one more prepared to face them,” she sheepishly admitted her ignorance, leaving out that they talked about him a few times, "It was a whole lot of hogwash but at least now I can teach Divination at Hogwarts more competently than Professor Trelawney ever did."

Harry pointed out, "Anybody can teach Divination better than Trelawney."

"Did the Hag do the same thing with you?" she was curious.

"No. Apparently I wasn't tough enough mentally so she had me working on that," he answered reluctantly.

"New spells?"

"Not many, mostly defensive. I agreed with her that there was no sense teaching me stuff I won't ever use. She did help me improve on the ones I already know. Sorry," he apologized unnecessarily, "I can teach you what she taught me if you want."

He must have sensed the disappointment she felt about the entire experience and was offering to teach her to make her feel better. That was sweet of him. She thought about turning him down on principle but maybe she could set aside her pride for this one.

"Sounds good. Thanks. And really it's not your fault. There's no need to apologize," she replied then a thought crossed her mind and made her laugh at herself.

"What?" Harry asked, puzzled.

"I'm so stupid. I quit Trelawney's class because I couldn't stand it and somehow, ended up enduring eight months of the same crap with the Hag just to prove I wouldn't quit. Then I quit anyway. I was so much smarter then."

Then Harry laughed and laughed so hard he couldn't talk. He was practically off his seat and there were tears in his eyes. If he were any other person she would have felt a bit slighted but this was Harry and she couldn't remember ever seeing him laugh like that. Ever. He was losing it.

"It's not that funny," she felt embarrassed and amused at his reaction at the same time.

"Sorry," he apologized again as he recovered, "I have this image of you sitting with the Hag in her candle lit meditation room, in remedial Divination…"

He laughed again and this time she joined him, not so much because of what he was laughing about but more so that he was. She sensed a relief in him, like he had needed this for a long time. Once again she felt bad about not being around when he and Ginny split up.

"I miss this," he said to her.

It was not in his character but she understood the compulsion to say it. She knew what he meant. Over time since Hogwarts they had fewer and fewer such moments. They had work, other friends, and were just busier with their lives, and with Ron up North it would become even fewer.

Not pointing that out...

"I miss this too," she replied, deciding to stay with Hag talk, "So, did she look into her crystal ball and tell you your destiny?"

"She said I was better off not knowing."

"That figures," Hermione was not surprised, "She enjoys yanking everyone's chain. I doubt that she really sees anything in that ball of hers."

"Did she tell you yours?"

"She asked me if I wanted to know and I said no."

"Why?"

"I don't believe in fate."

"Even after what I went through? How could you not?"

"Well, how could you? Seriously."

"I don't mean to brag but I did fulfill a major prophecy you know," he jokingly said in a mock self important tone that made her chuckle.

"I never saw it that way."

“I am proof that Divination has its merits,” he was kidding.

“It isn’t fate that Voldemort is dead and you’re here, trying to be funny.”

"So if it wasn't fate then what was it?"

"I saw it as you and Voldemort making choices, he because he believed in it and wanted to prevent it and you because of who you were and what you knew was decent and right. The end wasn't predetermined. You had to make tough decisions along the way and your choices influenced what happened each and every time you made them."

"You don't have to kiss my ass. I'm not your boss."

"Shut up. But seriously, do you believe in fate? That what is to be is set? That we have no control over what ultimately happens in our lives?" she couldn't quite let go that he did.

"No, not really," he grinned, "I just wanted to hear you talk me out of it."

"Git!" she playfully threw him her napkin and he just laughed again as he gave it back, "So, smart mouth, what name did the Hag give you?"

Harry's face reddened. The Hag almost always never called her students by name. She had aliases for all of them, most of them tacky or distasteful, pulled out from the stupid gazing crystal of hers.

"Oh come on," Hermione prodded, encouraged.

"It's pretty bad," Harry was still flushed.

"It can't be as bad as mine."

"I doubt anything can be worse."

"Come on."

"You first."

"Absolutely not! You first!"

"Okay. Fine," Harry looked very uncomfortable, awkward, kind of cute, "She called me the ‘Heartbreak Hero’."

"The what?!"

He kind of whispered it she wasn't sure she heard it right.

"Please don't make me say it again," he groaned shaking his head in shame.

It was Hermione's turn to titter. She wasn't sure which was funnier, the nickname or Harry's reaction to having had to say it.

"You're right. That's bad," Hermione responded, "I can understand 'hero' but 'heartbreak'?"

"She said I would break a lot of hearts," Harry explained, and Hermione couldn't help but notice a flitting sadness in his eyes.

Harry was obviously still not over it. Feeling sorry for him, she re-evaluated her planned questioning about Ginny. She'd have to tone it down a bit. Damn, and she liked her original speech too.

"Well, as cheesy as that sounds judging from the number of murderous looks I've received in this room since sitting with you I think the Hag was quite accurate about that one," she tried to lighten things back up. It did make him blush again, "You should be used to this attention by now."

"Frankly, I've had it. I just want it all to go away and Warren's little talk with the Witch's Weekly reporter just made it worse."

Gates had something to do with that? What an idiot!

Harry continued, "Do you think getting a pretend girlfriend would solve it?"

He looked serious and she was going to nip that stupid idea right in the bud.

"A pretend girlfriend? Were you thinking human or doll? Honestly Harry. For an Auror, you need to work on your problem solving skills."

Harry defended himself, "First of all, I doubt that this situation I'm in is a common problem Aurors would face. Secondly, short of marrying someone, how else can I stop this constant attention? I can't bloody adjust myself in public."

"You do not adjust yourself in public!" she exclaimed although careful they were the only ones who could hear, scandalized by the thought that he might have.

"That's not the point," Harry was laughing, "Now I can't, even if I wanted to."

She realized he was joking and just shook her head as she let a smile replace the shock on her face. For sure he was pulling her leg about the pretend girlfriend too.

Note to self...be a little less gullible when it comes to Harry...on the other hand...scratch that.

The virtual waiter had announced that their meals were ready if they were. Hermione was about to summon their food through their server when Harry interrupted.

"Hold on. Not so fast."

"What?"

"What did she call you?"

For a moment she thought she had gotten away with that. Drat. Now she had no choice.

"Waterloo."

"As in Napoleon's Waterloo?"

"No. As in her Waterloo. Her exact words to me when we first met were…" she paused and then used her best Hag vocal impersonation, "Oh, you're the English fucker. I've finally met my Waterloo."

"That’s pretty close,” Harry was impressed. If he knew how much time she killed trying to perfect it just to keep herself entertained he wouldn’t be as impressed, “You didn't get along that very first meeting?"

"She said I was stubborn and would resist everything she would try to teach me. One would think being a Seer she'd foreseen that in her crystal ball before picking me and wasting our time."

"Looking on the bright side at least she didn't call you the 'English Fucker'."

"True."

"Maybe she did see something in that crystal ball of hers after all."

"What do you mean?"

"I heard from John this afternoon that she's no longer accepting trainees."

"Really."

"Something about and I quote John, 'failing to complete her last student's training objectives and failing her high standards so much so she could not in good conscience take anyone else'. It kind of pissed him off when she said the student was you."

The Hag put her in the Head Auror's doghouse indefinitely. Bitch...

"She's bloody full of it. She probably wanted to stop taking students all along and made me her convenient excuse," she retorted refusing to worry about the ramifications for now, "But I'm glad she's gone."

Hermione raised her half filled glass up.

"To the Hag. Good riddance."

Harry echoed her toast. As they had dinner they chatted about Seamus, Dean, Luna, Neville and almost everybody else they knew. Well, except for Ron or Ginny. Hermione was sure that was as obvious to Harry as it was to her.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I figured Hermione would want to compare Hag notes with him and share her frustration and insecurities. Up next – this continued from Harry’s POV. Any specific points you want them to talk about?

19. His Friend Hermione

A/N. This chapter is the evening from Harry’s POV. It’s not typical HHr stuff but sheds more light on Harry and Hermione’s friendship and how Harry sees Hermione five years after Hogwarts. They will talk about Ginny and many will not like what he says.

Thank you for the reviews especially those which gave me ideas on what to write in the chapter. I tried to include all suggestions (except for the one who wanted shagging to be on Harry’s agenda :lol: not a bad idea just too OOC!). A few said Harry’s Hag experience - I took a stab at that but it just didn’t flow well. Maybe for a future chapter.

Some are finding this story of the past boring. To channel my Prof Dumbledore - I’m fishing to fish not for the fish, not that there’s anything wrong with the latter. But I do appreciate your investment in the story and for those who choose to stick around I will change the story summary to alert you once I post the continuation of the present. To be clear, there are good reasons why I’m writing about the past (at least I think they are).

Enough about that. This chapter is long enough. Hope you find it interesting.

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Chapter 19 – His Friend Hermione

Harry asked for sugar free pumpkin pie and took care of the tab while Hermione made a trip to the witches’ room. She had offered to pay for dinner but Harry convinced her to get the next one. They had vowed to make this a regular thing, to find time when they were both free at least once a week.

It was his idea. Hermione had been concerned that maybe they shouldn't tie themselves to such a lofty commitment, suggesting that Harry might have better use of his time but he insisted and she caved with a compromise that it didn't have to be dinner or at Finnigan's all the time. Her reluctance made Harry wonder and he asked her if he was intruding too much in her life which Hermione immediately dismissed. It was kind of a weird conversation thankfully interrupted by her need to use the loo.

She wasn't long. By the time their pie came he noticed her standing halfway back to their booth talking with a man he recognized as someone who worked at the Daily Prophet. He had met the guy at an office party once but as good as he was with faces he was pretty bad with names. They both looked down his way and Hermione motioned she would be a minute. He nodded and watched as they continued their conversation, thinking about how she had evolved from that bushy brown haired teenager he knew from Hogwarts to the woman she was today.

Physically she had not changed much, except perhaps that she had filled in the um, usual places and developed into a more mature woman. At about five foot five she was average built and carried herself in a manner that masked the strength and endurance she had acquired through years of dutiful training. When she joined the Auror office years ago she cut her brown hair for both ease and practicality and was nowadays sporting a bob that complimented her features.

While Hermione wasn't someone one would describe as beautiful she wasn't bad looking either. He had already been approached three times since the morning by Ministry wizards asking him what her availability status was. Not knowing the real answer he turfed the men over to Dean. He laughed inwardly as he imagined her tall and physically massive partner fielding the question, thinking if the wizards got past asking over Dean's glare they were worthy.

Hermione had gone out with other men during her many breaks from Ron. She usually picked the anti-Ron, someone who wasn't a red head, was an intelligent conversationalist and one who paid attention to her more than the food, kind of like the bloke she was talking with now. But outside her circle of friends men were generally intimidated by her accomplishments and tried to compete with her or make her conform to an ideal which Hermione clearly wasn't. She was never a conformist. She needed someone who was confident enough on their own to let her be herself without feeling threatened by her intelligence. There were very few men under thirty who were like that.

Needless to say the guys she dated were jerks. Over time, convinced she was tragically bound to end up with wrong sort, he, Seamus and Dean, Dean in particular, became quite protective of her. Hermione found it amusing, maybe even enjoyed their concern but if she ever found out why she got stood up by the French Ministry observer/jerk two years ago she would probably kill them. They got a bit carried away with that one but that was so much fun.

Like most modern day Aurors Hermione wore Muggle clothes and would don Ministry robes over them only when mandated inside the Ministry. Tonight she was in light brown corduroys and an orange v-neck cashmere sweater that hugged her frame, blending well into the crowd just as any twenty-something girl-next-door would.

Of course, those who knew Hermione well knew she was anything but the girl-next-door. She was the brightest witch of their generation, a goal oriented perfectionist, opinionated about most things, passionate about her beliefs, and with an uncompromising social conscience. He would say all that even though she had definitely mellowed since Hogwarts. There were fewer things she was dogmatic about and had learned to accept that systems were much easier to alter than beings, human or otherwise. That was probably a result of being around Ron for many years and dealing with different beings at the DPMC, where her sensibilities and logic were severely tested.

But to him she was so much more than all that. If not for her he would not be alive today and Voldemort would have won. She was his most loyal friend and aside from Ron was the only other person who knew most of what he went through.

Tonight he came to realize that Ginny's observation was right. Talking with Hermione was different; it was more spontaneous, effortless and on a level that he had not had with his ex-girlfriend. In a way it was very personal, intimate in the non-physical sense and warmed him more than many other feel-good experiences he had in his life.

On hindsight maybe Ginny noticed how much more stressed he had been since Hermione left, something he attributed to increasing responsibilities at the Ministry. He knew now that it wasn't so much because of the increased work demand but rather the fact that Hermione wasn't around to talk him through it. He missed her. He missed her companionship for it was during these times with her when he felt most secure, when he felt most accepted, when he could let down his guard and be himself. With her he did not have to be the perfect hero, know all the answers or always do right. She had seen him at his weakest and at his ugliest and he could be totally honest with her because he had in the past and because most times she would need no further elaboration. And no matter what they said to each other they would always be friends.

Harry chugged the remainder of his pint wondering why he wasn't like that with Ginny. Why didn't this openness come as naturally? Surely it was no longer to protect her from what was after him or to shield her from the darkness of his past. Why couldn't he change for the woman he supposedly loved?

"Sorry about the wait."

Hermione just joined him, cutting through his thoughts.

"No worries," he responded then bugged by curiosity, he had to ask, "That guy you were talking with, he writes for the Prophet, doesn't he?"

"You mean Lance Elliot," she answered, "Yes, he covers the Wizengamot. Are you ready?"

"Yup," he replied as he helped her into her coat, "What did he want?"

"Him, nothing. I needed a favour," she said vaguely then steered their conversation, "I'd rather walk. It'll take about five minutes. You don't mind, do you?"

He didn't. They stepped outside and unexpected freezing January air greeted them rudely. The temperature had dropped suddenly while they were in Finnigan's. They walked side by side in silence, shoulders both hunched over, braving the cold, her with her arms hugged across her chest and him with his hands in his pockets. At one point they glanced at each other at the same time.

"Geez, it's cold," she laughed at the foolish sight caused by her suggestion.

"Yeah," he laughed too, "Any more bright ideas?"

"It’s not much further," she pressed on.

"This is crazy. Let's side-along."

They'd have to because he didn't know where her temporary quarters were. She relented, taking his hand in hers, warming it instantly and squeezing it tightly. For his part he thought he should relax and let her take him, feeling odd when he realized it has been a long time since he had given up bodily control and completely trusted someone else with his. Wait. This was Hermione. Just five years ago she took him Side-along many times without warning and he never Splinched. He was thinking way too much.

They spun in place and reappeared right outside the Ministry owned flat. The momentum of their re-emergence caused Hermione to crash forward into him and he reflexively tried to maintain his balance and to help her with hers. He brought both his arms around her back and held her against him to keep them from falling over. Hmm…she was wearing a soft flowery perfume he was noticing for the first time.

"Sorry," she immediately apologized, "I should have accounted for the added weight and your mental resistance during entry."

"Sure, blame it all on me. You weren't half as shoddy five years ago when we were escaping danger."

She chuckled at his joke and tried to defend herself, "Give me a break. It's been a while since I've had to do this."

"I can't believe you're making excuses for poor execution."

"Um...Harry..." she said tentatively, the smile still in her eyes and in her voice.

"Yeah?"

"You can let go now."

"Oh, yeah, sorry," he loosened his embrace and blushed.

She merely grinned at his absentmindedness. He watched her take the wards down and as they walked to her flat entrance at the very end of the sheltered path, he noticed that she was lost in thought. Harry guessed that would be about Ginny. They had been avoiding talking about her and Ron throughout dinner. Hermione probably wanted his side of the story about the break up and about the girl he was with last night.

"You're plotting. I must be in deep shit," he said, half-joking but with a tinge of genuine anxiety.

She chuckled, unlocking the door with her wand as she did, "Yes, you are, but we'll get to that later. I'm making tea. Make yourself at home."

Following her lead into the foyer, he took off his shoes as she did, left his jacket on the sofa with her stuff and placed their somewhat cold pumpkin pie atop the short counter that separated the dining area from the kitchen. He looked around as she noisily searched for a teapot and cups in the cupboards.

It was a small one bedroom flat, impersonal and indistinct. The door to the bedroom was ajar and just past it he saw unopened suitcases on the floor.

"Not planning on staying long?"

Hermione followed his gaze to her suitcases and guessed why he asked, answering, "I just haven't had the time to properly unpack. From the looks of it I might be here for a while."

"I thought you were thinking of buying right away."

"I'd like to but flats here in London are so expensive. I just browsed through the ads this morning and I'm losing hope I'll find one I like that I can actually afford," she handed him a couple of small plates, forks and a knife, "I heard you had to move out of Grimmauld. How do you like your new place?"

"It's okay I guess," he hadn't given it much thought, "At least it's in a new building, close enough to the Ministry even though I've been too busy I haven't actually spent time there."

Admittedly, the physical move had been symbolic too in that it was around the same time he began dating again. Out with old and in with the new, or at least he remembered that being part of his impulsive decision to buy property instead of lease. He handed Hermione a piece of pie over the counter and cut some for himself.

"Dean and I drove past the construction today. I can't believe the old Black House is gone forever," she said with a hint of nostalgia in her tone. "It's unfortunate the Muggles condemned the entire building. It must have been hard when you saw them tear it down."

"As much as I wanted to keep it, it had to go. It was only a matter of time. The place had been unmanageable since Kreacher died last year."

"So how does that work?" she asked inquisitively, "You still own the unplottable land, don't you?"

He confirmed, "I've hired a company to rebuild over it. I'm just not sure I want to live there after."

Hermione wanted to say something but tea was ready. Summoning a couple of chairs Harry transformed them into stools so they could sit at the counter and talk about work. They each took a careful sip of good warm tea.

"So," he took a breath in, "You first."

"About the Gaunt case; what did John say?"

"There's good news and bad news."

"Don't tell me John said 'no'," she guessed and groaned her dissatisfaction.

"But he said he'd have no problem if Kingsley was okay with it," he quickly added and instantly felt the gloom leave her face, changing into one of excited anticipation.

"So, I'm in then!"

"Not so fast, I'm meeting with Kingsley tomorrow morning."

"But he'd say 'yes'. You and I know it and John knows it. You can tell me now and…"

"Can you relax? One night is not gonna kill you and playing it straight will keep Humptail off my back."

"Fine," she agreed, "But I want to know the second Kingsley makes it official. Why is John being such a hard-ass anyway? Is he sore at me because of the Hag?"

"Not sure but he's very sensitive these days. Why? Is he picking on you?"

"Feels like it. He got on my case this afternoon as if it was my fault Gaunt is the mover in Knockturn Alley."

He hadn't heard about this one so she told him about what she and Dean stumbled upon.

"Warren and I were wondering the same thing yesterday," he said about Gaunt's increasing influence with a frown, thinking that this new information fit perfectly with the picture.

The mere mention of his partner's name brought out Hermione's frustration. As much as he hated this part of his job, it gave him the perfect opening to discuss the matter.

"About Warren. He can be prick."

"Can be?"

"But he can be nice when he wants to be."

"Oh please. Butter him up for someone who will actually believe it," she scoffed.

"I talked with him today and he says he'll behave himself if you do."

"If I do?!"

Shit. The second he said it he knew he shouldn't have. He forgot to carefully edit Warren's answer.

"He says he's merely reacting to you."

"He's the one who starts it with his bigoted commentary and his blatant disregard for decency!"

That was true. Warren enjoyed pushing buttons. He decided not to point out to Hermione that Warren was merely playing with her. That would just add kerosene to the fire.

"You don't have to like him but if you want to work on the Gaunt case, you're going to have to work with him."

"Maybe he doesn't have to work the case."

"You won't get him reassigned back to Toronto if that's what you're planning," he was straight with her.

"Why not?!" she was just about to explode, "What is so special about this guy that John's protecting him and you're protecting him?"

"I'm not protecting him," he said truthfully, "Look. This is getting out of hand. Is there something going on between the two of you?"

"What the fuck does that mean?!"

That riled her up more just as he expected it would. He really should talk to her about her use of profanity but not right now.

"This thing between you two; are you sure it's not because you like each other?"

"What would ever give you such a stupid idea?!"

Keep calm. She may look like she's going to kill you but she isn't. Best to keep the knife out of her reach and watch out for that fork.

"I've seen this useless bickering enough in the past with Ron to wonder if you're um…um…"

Someone give him a better word, or throw him a thesaurus, quick…

"Attracted to him?!"

Damn! Was it too much to ask for her not to be able to finish a thought of his just one time in their lives? ‘Attracted’ was such a sexual word. He didn't want to give her ideas.

He hoped she wasn't because Warren was not who he'd want to see Hermione end up with. However, it wasn't inconceivable that she was. Based on the usual initial reaction of women around Warren he was a good looking guy and he didn't have red hair. Hermione regarded Harry as if he had two heads and actually was waiting for an answer.

"Yes. Are you attracted to him?" he winced as he said the word.

"You actually think that the fact that I argue with Gates is an indication that I fancy him," she said quietly to confirm what he was saying. Before he could answer she was shaking her head and laughing to herself, "Oh, Harry. Did you think that through all by yourself or did Dean weigh in?"

"It’s all mine," he replied a bit red in the face but relieved that she wasn’t angry about his preposterous theory.

"For the record," she said in her listen-to-me-well-for-I-will-say-this-once tone, "While Ron may have bickered with me because he fancied me I bickered with him because we disagreed on a lot of things and he brought out the worse in me. In fact, we brought out the worse in each other and that was ultimately the reason we broke up."

"And Warren?"

"Gates is git. I have no patience for him even if he's supposed to be some Canadian hero," she replied, "He crossed the line and made this personal, Harry. I've worked hard at getting respect to let someone like him get away with what he did."

"I understand," he did now, "But this quarrel you have with him will compromise the squad and I can't let that happen. As I said, he's willing to start over. Can you do the same for the team?"

She was struggling with this more than he thought she would. The old Hermione would have decided immediately.

"You're right. I shouldn't let personal differences affect the team. I'll be civil at work," she emphasized 'at work' knowing there wasn't much he could do outside of it, "By the way, the do-it-for-the-team speech was really good."

Hermione said that straight-faced but it sounded way too sappy to think it was a serious compliment.

"Why thank you. That was my very first one."

"You're a natural."

From there the conversation became more serious. She enquired about what happened at the Ministry while she was gone. Being somewhat apolitical, he wasn't the best person to ask about it but he told her what he heard anyway. As in the past power in the Ministry predominantly resided within its two largest departments, the MLE and the Department of Mysteries. There was definitely growing concern that the DoM and its leaders wanted changes in the MLE heavy administration and the MLE sympathetic Wizengamot.

Rumours were that there was ongoing positioning and the anti-Kingsley group was recruiting influential players aggressively into DoM and into the more minor offices. Hermione was not pleased that after only five years of relative mutual cooperation the politics was back.

"Those bastards. Can't they see there's still so much rebuilding to do? What's Kingsley been doing about it?"

"There's really not much Kingsley can do," he concluded but Hermione disagreed.

"He could do his own shameless recruiting," she suggested, "Or influence laws to actively protect important projects even if just for the transition."

"Yeah he could but Kingsley's too straight to do something like that."

"I guess that's the problem. He too straight he'll end up getting his throat cut by those who aren't, and then we end up with a less than ideal Minister."

That was graphic but he was sure she meant it in a figurative sense.

"It'll work out," he tried to reassure them both.

"This wasn't what I pictured would happen five years ago. I really hoped those in Ministry leadership would stay on course until they build a better Magical world and prevent what happened from happening again. But no, that would have made too much sense," she ranted. "Aren't you frustrated? Did you see this coming five years ago?"

"I hope you don't take it against me but at that time the state of the future Ministry wasn't on my thought much," he admitted, "On a more personal note, this thing with Ginny was, and where it is now is definitely not what I envisioned then."

Hermione didn't say anything but waited for him to continue. All this talk about unmet expectations was depressing. He didn't realize until that moment that he needed to talk about Ginny.

"She broke up with me," he finally said the words, "I never imagined she would."

"I don't think anybody did. She definitely didn’t."

"She wanted me to change. She said I didn't talk to her enough."

"Was she right?"

"I know what she means."

"So why don't you talk to her more?"

"It's not that simple."

"What do you mean?"

"It's kind of hard to explain."

"We don't have to be at work ‘til seven. We have time."

She warmed up and poured them more tea.

"What made you give up on Ron?"

"Slick Potter. Don't you make this about me."

"It isn't just about me. It's about us, our expectations then and our realities now. Don't tell me you saw yourself and Ron not making it five years ago."

"Four actually although I kept on hoping I was wrong. It was hard to judge anything objectively during that first year when everyone was kind of high on Voldemort's death," she answered, "Didn't Ron tell you why we broke up?"

"He said it was the arguments but I got the feeling something else broke the camel's back."

Hermione sipped her tea. She had to think about it before deciding. They never really discussed their relationships. He and Ginny never had any real problems before this one and she usually went to Ginny while he listened to Ron when they had fights. This was kind of new for them but he sensed she wanted to talk about Ron too.

"You have to promise you won't take it against him."

"Have I ever?"

"What ticked me off finally was his jealousy."

"He was jealous of another bloke?" he asked, surprised.

"I wish. If it were a guy I could have at least deluded myself that it was because he loved me."

"The Hag," he concluded.

"He was upset that she chose to train me," Hermione confirmed.

"I knew he was a bit insecure but I had no idea it was this bad."

"For years I tried playing down what I did so he wouldn't feel insecure. I finally figured that was stupid and that if he can't be happy for me and be okay with me doing well I didn't want to be with him.

"Ron's the kind of person who needs a constant cheering section. I couldn't imagine myself being a perpetual cheerleader. I'm just not the type so I gave up."

"I'm sorry it didn't work out."

"I think we're both better off, actually," she said without regret.

"Do you miss him?"

"His friendship and even his awful jokes," she admitted, embarrassed, it was amusing.

"Do you still love him?"

"It's changed but I'll always care about him."

"And what Warren said?"

He was curious about the answer and if she actually would reply. She put up token resistance.

"Don't you think that's way too much information for you?"

"Why, Miss Granger, you of all people should know that there is no such thing as having too much information."

"Since when did you become so nosy? You used to have a life."

"I'm not nosy. I'm just curious if Warren got it right."

"I miss sex. So shoot me."

"Geez, warn me before saying something brutally honest like that."

"You asked the question, I didn't," they were laughing the awkwardness away and Hermione dug them deeper, "And I'm not even talking about good sex, I'm talking about forget foreplay, just plain ole get to the point, naked sex…"

"Whoa! Okay, that's definitely way too much information!"

Her vivid description of her current needs had grabbed a hold of his imagination and it was difficult not to see her as a woman.

"I can't believe I just said that out loud and to you!" she was covering her face with hands, laughing, self-conscious as he had never seen her before.

"In case you didn't notice you're talking to a man and, as you know, all men given sufficient cause and opportunity are perverts."

He struggled to finish his point seeing Hermione was in tears.

She asked as they regained composure, "Don't you miss sex with Ginny? And don't lie by saying no."

"What's the point in asking the question then?"

"I'm asking because for the life of me I can't figure out why you not only let her break up with you but you also chose some bimbo to replace her."

"I haven't replaced her," he fended off her playful accusation, "And what if I told you the bimbo you're referring to has a double degree in advanced metaphysical runes and higher potions?"

"She's still a bimbo."

"I thought so."

"Does she really?"

"No, of course not. But you see my point."

"Quite clearly. You haven't answered my question," she reminded him.

"I thought it was rhetorical."

"Would it kill you to say it?"

"I miss sex with Ginny. There. Happy now?"

"What about her? Do you miss her?"

"I miss her."

"Do you still love her?"

"If it's true what they say about the first, well, she was my first. I think I always will."

"So why are you giving her up so easily? She's leaving for Holyhead in five days. Just talk to her."

The series of questions and the conclusion Hermione led him to was typical of her trying to make him see logic. Logic would not help in this one.

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't think I can be who she wants me to be. She wants me to be someone like that shrink on the telly, that bloody American, what’s his name?"

"Who? Dr. Phil? She does not!"

"You should get this; you, who'll never shake those pom-poms for Ron ever again. Can you imagine me talking about my feelings? 'Oh yeah, I'm feeling sad. That mother who just died reminds me of mine and I want to talk about it'. See?"

"You're being ridiculous. That's not what she means."

"I know what she means. She wants me to talk to her the way I talk to you."

"How hard can that be? It's not an unreasonable request."

"That's just it. When I finally figured out she was right I started thinking that I should just do it because it's not an unreasonable request. But it just hit me. How am I supposed to do that? She's not you and I can't pretend that she is."

"I agree that would be quite a stretch and best not mention that pretend thing to her ever," she suggested and then added, "I do see your point. It's difficult to duplicate something that took years of what we went through to create. You kind of almost have to experience your own ups and downs. Too bad it isn't a switch that you can readily flip on."

"Luna had a good point too."

"I've been hearing that a lot these days."

"She said Ginny should see what's out there and maybe she'll find what she's looking for."

"Maybe," she replied acting as if the conversation did not turn out to be what she had expected.

"Is there something she asked you to tell me?"

"No."

"Does she want me back?"

"Harry…" she was reluctant to answer.

"I just need to know."

He did need to know. For if Ginny wanted him back then there was a chance she'd back down and accept him as he was, flaws and all. And if she didn't…

"I'm her best friend."

He knew what the hesitation was about. It was unspoken that as Ginny's friend she was not supposed to tell him. But it wasn't difficult to read that she was trying to get them back together, likely without Ginny's consent, and would have told him what he hoped to hear if it was true. Knowing now what it was really about, the reality of his break-up with Ginny stung more than ever.

"I guess that's a 'no'."

"She was just so hurt last night. She wasn't thinking clearly," Hermione tried to soften the blow, "I know her. She'll want you back."

A part of him wanted to believe her and a part of him wanted to shut the door completely. It was hard to completely let go.

"If she wants me back she knows where to find me."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I hope their friendship seemed real enough and genuine without Harry being overly sentimental.

I’m not sure if anyone can appreciate Harry’s conundrum about Ginny. The fool who came up with ‘first love never dies’ should be stoned until he/she recants that it does! It’s kind of true for me. I’d be interested to hear from someone who knows firsthand that it’s not.

Next chapters are going to be about the Morpheus Gaunt case and the continued evolution of Harry and Hermione’s friendship.

20. Pillars

A/N. Took me long enough, didn’t it? Harry is giving me a lot of trouble. I have to thank the Hag for helping me out on this one.

Thank you for those replies about ‘first love’. Each was unique and personal which means that unfortunately, some of you will not agree with how Harry will deal with his.

And to all the Canadian readers – Happy Gobble-Gobble!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 20 - Pillars

Hermione tossed and turned in bed. She couldn't sleep. She was bothered by her failure to help mend her best friends' relationship. Convinced that Ginny would change her mind if Harry made the first move, her mission that evening was to get Harry to open lines of communication. She fell short in her task and upon analysis of where the plan went wrong she concluded that the whole thing fell apart the second Harry pointed out his difficulty in fulfilling such a seemingly reasonable request.

She's not you and I can't pretend that she is.

She laughed inwardly and felt warm in the face. Trust Harry to be so clueless so as to say something that would make her feel good and bad at the same time. It took her a few seconds to formulate a sensible response to that. Her unpreparedness was quite understandable. They never really talked of their friendship, at least not to each other. While it went through a lot of growing pains and was by no means perfect, it was indeed a unique one, one tested and strengthened by fire. It was heartening to hear that Harry thought it was one of a kind too but it made her feel bad, for Ginny for making her think she was missing out on something and for Harry for not knowing what to do about it.

Although neither blamed her she felt responsible for causing their rift and it made her want to help them even more. Really, if she wasn't around Ginny would have had no point of comparison. It was curious that in all these years Ginny never hinted at ever wanting what she and Harry had and it made her wonder what set Ginny off. Why was theirs suddenly not enough? Did something happen while she was away?

The more she thought about this the more uncomfortable she felt. It would be weird to ask Ginny or Harry and to ask would be unlocking a Pandora's Box she didn't want to open. In the scheme of things the answer to that didn't matter anyway. The fact still remained that Ginny wanted something from Harry that Harry couldn't provide at this time and at the moment she was at a loss about how to proceed. Does she continue to intervene or step back?

They're adults. Luna is right. The break will be good for Ginny. Actually it will be good for them both.

Ginny isn't going to find what's she's looking for.

Well, she may or she may not. If she doesn't, it'll help her accept that what they had was actually enough. And sometimes we don't know what we have until we don't have it anymore.

And it's good for Harry how?

Communication is a cornerstone in any worthwhile relationship and as hard as it is for him he'd have to learn to communicate better. If he doesn't this won't be the first time he'll have this problem.

I could just tell them and save them grief.

On the other hand it'll be more meaningful if they sort it out on their own.

Their own test of fire.

Exactly. If they survive and don't get burned too much.

After the internal discussion she decided to go against her helpful nature. It was best to stay out of this one. At peace with her choice Hermione finally fell asleep, her last thought was hope that Harry and Ginny were going to be okay...Harry especially.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry was in bed staring at the ceiling. He couldn't sleep. Ginny didn't want him back and he could only think that it meant she didn't love him anymore (or at least not as much as she used to). Foolish as it was, even when he began dating again, he continued to hope that their break up was temporary and that she would come to her senses. But even with Hermione's belief that Ginny would eventually change her mind, he felt that tonight the valley between them just became wider and there was very little left to hope for.

Things happen for a reason, he remembered what Luna said. Yes, they do, and this particular one was to make a perfectly happy person miserable.

Ginny was perfectly happy too, that is until she saw the imperfection in their 'perfect relationship'. Their friends certainly called it that a lot they believed it. It was hard not to. They were the couple fairy tales were based on; she, the young girl who had a crush on him, a 'damsel in distress' saved from mortal peril by her hero and he, the hero who finally clued in and they fell in love. They rarely argued, they rarely fought and they were supportive of each other. What else was there to ask for in a relationship? Did he mention they rarely fought?

That was surprising in that they were both somewhat short tempered. He guessed it was because they never really had important conflict between them to be short tempered about. They were compatible in that sense; they had the same views on many major things and they did not sweat the small stuff. And this one big thing that finally cropped up they failed to handle well…he failed to handle well.

One big thing...one that mattered...was it really just the one or was that the tip of the iceberg? He wondered when the fairy tale bubble burst for Ginny and when she realized he was not perfect, that what they had was not perfect. Or had she known all along but had been turning a blind eye to his shortcomings, tolerating them because she loved him and wanted their relationship to work?

It was unimaginable that Ginny was giving in to him all these years but then he didn't believe Hermione would downplay her accomplishments for Ron either (he still couldn't get over the fact that he didn't see that as it was happening). However, for a couple he and Ginny did agree with each other a lot and it was in striking contrast to Ron and Hermione who rarely did.

His friends' relationship had been what they themselves called an imperfect one. To this date he didn't know exactly what it was that made them keep on coming back to each other for more of the same. Most of their friends deduced that it had to be Hermione's stubbornness that it took time for her to finally admit she had been wrong about Ron. He preferred thinking it was love and the desire to make it better as Ron said it was but looking back now maybe it was because just like him they had difficulty fully letting go.

Why didn't he know the answer to this? Why didn't he have better insight about what their relationship was like? Why did he accept Ron's side of things as de facto and why didn't he ask her?

As he thought about the answers to the questions he remembered that this wasn’t the first time in recent memory that he was questioned about the depth of his knowledge of Hermione. It was the Hag who brought it up during one of their earliest meetings when she was assessing his training needs.

You have this young woman in your life. What's her name?

Ginny. Ginny Weasley.

Not her. Your other woman.

Other woman?

The brunette.

Do you mean Hermione? No, she's not...we're not...she's like a sister to me.

I guess you know this because you’ve had a sister before.

No but...

I completely understand. She is not as pleasing to the eye as the other one. Butt ugly.

No, she isn't ugly.

If you say so. Tell me about her.

She's one of my best friends. She's brilliant. She's an Auror too, one of the best ever to join the Ministry.

So she is. That's it? That’s all you know about your best friend? I already knew that about her before you came.

What else do you want to know?

What else do you know about her? Tell me something that only you, a best friend of hers, would know.

I don’t see how that’s relevant to my being here.

We were discussing weaknesses to determine your training needs.

Hermione isn’t a weakness. If anything she’s a pillar of strength. I wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for her.

We all have pillars we rely on for support. I heard of how you brought the mighty Voldemort down so I shouldn’t have to elucidate why you need to know who and what yours are. But pillars have pillars. If I were an enemy and desperate enough I’d find out what you should already know about yours.

Harry thought that the Hag was making much out of nothing. He would do anything to protect those he cared about the most even if they weren’t his ‘pillars’. But with that memory and his questions tonight he came upon another depressing conclusion. Apart from work and being his friend he knew so little about Hermione. There was much about her that he assumed. While he did have a good sense of what she would do given a particular situation and thought he understood the way she thought things through, he couldn't be sure that he was right. There was that private side to her that either she did not wish to share with him or she didn't because he never thought to ask.

Maybe he was over thinking this but he couldn't get over it. For the enormous support Hermione had given him all this time she did not get much in return. It felt to him that she didn't need him the way he needed her. Granted that Hermione was always very independent and was the type who would resolve personal problems on her own it was upsetting that, except for work stuff, she never shared her problems with him or asked for his help. Maybe Hermione didn't think him worthy or competent enough to consider confiding in?

Unintentional as it was her self-sufficient nature made him feel insecure about his place in her life and he now had a slightly better appreciation of how Ron felt and why. He wasn’t sure if he was one of her pillars and he wanted to be one really badly. For all his talk about Hermione needing someone confident enough on their own he felt a bit embarrassed that he, one of her best friends, wasn't. And he supposedly understood her?

The more he measured himself as a friend the more miserably he flunked his evaluation. With the unsettling thought he willed himself to sleep, dozing off, resolved to do something about it. If only he knew where to start.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Say something," Dean commented as Hermione shifted the car up a gear.

It was the day after the incident at Knockturn Alley, They were on their way to their assignment and he had just told her what his and Luna's solution to working things out was. She didn't want to say anything that would spoil it for them and she was doing her best not to open her mouth until her filters were in place.

Dammit. She realized that the filters wouldn't be enough. She'd have to lie.

"Australia's really nice; at least my parents think so. It's a good idea. I wouldn't have thought of it myself," Hermione fibbed a half truth but Dean could not be fooled.

"Let me have it."

"What I think doesn't matter," she fended him off.

"Of course it does."

"You're not gonna like what I have to say."

"I know. I want to hear your gloomy thoughts anyway," she gave him a skeptical look but he insisted, "Honestly, I do. I need the reality check."

"And why does it have to come from me?" she whined.

"Because you care and deep down inside you're dying to say something," Dean put it simply and she couldn't deny the truth in what he said.

"Okay…fine. I think it's a terrible mistake. You shouldn't have offered," she stopped as Dean winced involuntarily, "Don't get me wrong, you know how I feel about you and Luna and I'm not saying that Luna is going to take advantage..."

Hermione turned the car into a quiet suburban neighborhood, keeping her eye on the unfamiliar road as she spoke and uncharacteristically losing nerve.

"Just get to the point."

"Your family is here. Your friends are here. Your job is here," she enumerated one after the other painfully, "Even if you do get into the Australian MLE, Luna's not even sure how long her project will be. Are you going to move again when it's over? And what if...what if..."

"Things don't work out?"

"Well, yes. People fall in and out of love all the time," Hermione tried to be gentle, "It's a romantic and sweet offer but if I were Luna I would have flat out rejected it."

"Why?"

"Your work is important to you."

"She's more important."

"What if she becomes famous for her work while you've been dragged all over the world never having the opportunity to become more than a beat Auror?" she asked too honestly.

LDR was a better option; breaking it off even. Sometimes she wished she had a more cheerful outlook.

"I can't see that happening," Dean replied.

Of course he wouldn't. He shouldn't. She had experienced the three S's before. Love does make one short-sighted, selfless and stupid in a good way. Those were part of what made it exhilarating and fun…until one day you come to your senses and it suddenly hits you, 'what were you thinking?'

Do you think Dean's ready for that reality check?

Note to self…never get yourself and your cynicism into this predicament ever again, especially when you're not in a 'happy place'.

"It might not...I hope it doesn't...I'm almost sure it won't," she backpedalled awkwardly, already feeling guilty about putting the pessimistic seed in his mind, "I'm just saying the worse that can happen is that it'll wear you out and while you are a wonderful human being it'll be tough to hold off resentment."

He shrugged, "It was either me or her. I couldn't let her. And we care too much about each other we have to give it a try. It's a risk but what do we have to lose?"

Dean seemed to know what he was signing up for and thankfully, her negative forecast did not dampen his spirits. She admired him for his courage to take the huge leap. And this was why he was in a loving relationship and she wasn't.

"You're absolutely right," she was surprised by how much she agreed with him, "And what do I know? I'm not an expert. My own personal life would be in a much better shape if I were and by going against my opinion you're probably ahead of the game already."

"True," he laughed at her self depreciating comment.

Dean would know that as knowledgeable as she was about many things she would be the first to admit not knowing how to make a relationship work. Of course that didn't stop her from force of habit and sharing her opinion anyway. But if someone wanted to know how to make one not work, she had plenty of experience. He thanked her for her candidness and they slipped into silence.

Hermione used the break to focus on their case at hand; Morpheus Gaunt and how to catch him. Gaunt was an obvious alias, not uncommon since the five years following Voldemort’s death. Every dark wizard or witch wannabe wanted to be a Gaunt or a Riddle, thinking the name would give them a leg up in the business. ‘Morpheus Gaunt’ first came into existence with his first official criminal act…the murder of a Hit Wizard for no apparent reason other than to announce his arrival. The instant notoriety was duly noted but he killed another member of the MLE just for good measure.

Like most ‘Gaunts’ Morpheus claimed he was related to Voldemort by blood. He made an example of the first wizard who scoffed at his declaration and nobody made the same mistake of calling him a liar again. There was no proof that Morfin, Voldemort’s uncle, ever sired a child or proof that he didn’t. Why anyone would choose to lie that the moron was his grandfather was beyond her. Personally, if she was going to make something up and had to make a choice she would have chosen to be a direct Voldermort descendant. That kind of made her wonder if Morpheus Gaunt’s claim was actually true.

Aside from the murders, there wasn’t much on Gaunt’s rap sheet until the Wasabi Hut incident. He was marking Knockturn Alley as his territory and she was certain whatever Harry’s case was about it was something big. She was anxiously waiting to hear from him about his meeting with Kingsley.

Deep in thought she was surprised to notice that she was pulling up in front of the Muggle home of Mrs. Griselda Gilson. Dean took out a Galleon, flipped it up in the air and caught it.

"Your call," he told her.

"Being," she selected.

Her partner slapped the coin on the back of his hand and showed her. It landed wizard side up. Fudge…she always chose being and always lost.

They got off the car and walked up the path to the entrance. Dean was about to lift the heavy brass knocker when the door swung open and they were immediately ushered in by a teary eyed diminutive lady.

Mrs. Gilson was about fifty but looked older because she was tense and had not slept in a while. Her son, Hubert, had been missing for five days and they were there to tell her that they had found him. The young seventeen year old wizard was one of those who died at Knockturn Alley yesterday. It took all night for Forensics to sort the scene out and release the bodies just this morning.

Hermione told her what happened. It was painful to watch the single mother lose herself at the news of the loss of her one and only child. This part of the job was what she hated the most; most of them did. And the hardest part was not to forget to ask the right questions after, no matter how tough it would be for the loved one to answer. They needed to find out how Hubert got mixed up with Gaunt.

With his mother's permission they searched Hubert's room. From what they gathered from his Mum and from his typical teenage boy quarters Hubert was spoiled and led a carefree life. He wasn't in school. He didn't have work. He liked to party.

By early afternoon they had visited four other families and there was a definite pattern. The young men didn't know each other but with the exception of one they all led busy night-lifes. They were both ruminating silently on the information they had as the drove back to the Ministry when she was hit by a thought that couldn't wait.

"Let's start with the odd man out."

"Okay," Dean took his notes out, "Derek Shylock, twenty, recent graduate of Advanced Potions at the Brewers Higher School of Magical Learning, part time job at St. Mungo's. Says here he was a former Hogwarts student who transferred out after first year. That can't be right."

"Hufflepuff in Romilda Vane’s year," she tried to remind him, "He was slightly overweight, dark hair, rarely spoke."

"The one who stayed at Hogwarts over Christmas because his entire family had the dragon pox?"

"He's the one," Hermione replied then continued from her memory of the parent interview, "So Derek remained quiet and timid, with few close friends and no steady girl. He still lived with his parents, called three days ago to tell his folks he was going out with 'work friends' and that he would be late coming home."

Dean added, "That was the third time in two weeks. Parents were ecstatic he was coming out of his shell until he didn't come home at all. Work friends deny being out with him."

"He lied."

"Assuming co-workers had no reason to," Dean played devil's advocate.

"The St. Mungo staff will check out okay," Hermione was almost sure of it, "If you were Derek, why would you lie about something like that?"

Dean paused, "Didn't want my folks to worry."

"Why would they? They were supportive of you being more outgoing."

"Either I wasn't really going out or I was going out with someone they wouldn't approve of."

"Or someplace. Looking at the broader picture, the rest of our vics liked to party. According to a recent poll by the Magical Facebook 92% of wizards aged 17 to 25 want to attend the party of parties at least once in their lives," Hermione concluded.

"You think our boy Derek went to a Vamp Camp?"

Relatively new and somewhat underground, Vamp Camps were late night gatherings held in clandestine locations because of the not so legal activities of those in attendance. It attracted young professionals who wanted to have a good time, the kind of entertainment that included loud music, lots of alcohol, designer potions, and back rooms where couples could go and have sex with each other or with strangers. They were called Vamp Camps or Vampire Parties because they started exclusively as such and the potential danger of rogue vampires in attendance was part of its allure. Nowadays they were well attended by wizards and witches.

"As did the four others," she answered, "Maybe that's where Gaunt met them."

"What makes you think Gaunt goes to Vamp Parties?"

"The woman with him at the Wasabi."

She didn't have to elaborate. Dean picked up what she meant.

"Pale, in shades and the preference for raw steak? A bit of a stretch, don't you think? She could be merely sleep-deprived, sun-starved or sick. You're grasping at straws."

"Straws were all I had. At first I thought she-werewolf but she looked too docile."

"You already know she's a vampire," he realized.

After working with her for so long he knew how she operated. It was time to confess.

"I um...happened to be browsing through the old voluntary werewolf and vampire registries this morning as I was reviewing a cold case and um... may have recognized her."

Dean was amused. They weren't supposed to be actively working Wasabi. It annoyed her that Gates said it was off limits and she had to do something to address her need for information.

"I'm sure it wasn't a violation of the MOO."

"Of course not…technically," she replied; she made sure it wouldn't be.

"And?"

"She's a turnblood, goes by the name of Corpuscula, last address unknown. It's a long shot but we have pictures of her," she tried to curb her enthusiasm, "We have pictures of Gaunt…the vampire community in London is small. If we just showed them..."

"Absolutely not!" Dean began shaking his head.

He needed a bit of convincing just as she thought.

"The sun's still out. We're just going to ask her if she recognizes either of..."

Dean interrupted, "N-O, no. You knew about her this morning! You knew you were going to ask me this, didn't you?!"

"Yes but I wasn't gonna insist if you said 'no'. As it stands now, things are a bit different…"

"I swore I'd never talk to that vamp, ever."

"But Bloody Mary's a sweetheart..."

The vampire informer of his really was a darling, one who would do anything for him but only for him.

"Easy for you to say. She didn't expose her fangs near your neck the last time," Dean replied anxiously, white and getting whiter by the second at the memory of his near transformation.

The incident in her mind wasn't as bad as Dean thought it was. She tried not to laugh at the sight of a panicky Dean.

"So she fancies you but she did swear she'd have better impulse control next time. Come on, you know she'll talk only to you."

"The answer's still no."

"One conversation."

He snorted, "I know you. No matter what she says you'll want to see for yourself and I'll end up going to a Vamp party with her and Merlin only knows how many other blood thirsty vampires."

"It's not like you're going alone," she reasoned, "If need be I'll be around to Stun her off you and Petrify her like the last time."

"Forget it," he reiterated.

"Please. Just ask her if she's seen them around."

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"No and that's final," her partner said firmly.

Nine hours later, she and Dean were in an unmarked van in a concealed alley a couple of blocks down from where Bloody Mary said an exclusive Vamp Camp was about to take place.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. So Hermione is still in denial, Harry is clueless/confused and Dean has taken a leap and will move to Australia for Luna.

More about Gaunt in the next.

I’m still unhappy about how Harry is thinking but he has a mind of his own. I’m hoping this mission to become a pillar in Hermione’s life will help. As always, your comments and ideas are welcome.

21. Apologies, Apologies

A/N. It’s been so long many may need reminding where we are.

Hermione and Dean are following up on a lead about Gaunt and his girlfriend Corpuscula. I didn’t plan the chapter to end this way but that’s not really news.

It’s only a story…

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 21 – Apologies, Apologies

Dean was still miffed at her for talking him into getting in touch with Bloody Mary, which she thought was kind of juvenile. It turned out that the vampire informer did know Corpuscula and had pertinent valuable information. For the past few hours they had been remotely watching the front and back entrances of the 'Bat Cave', a Muggle night spot that today was closed to the public for a private function.

The party was for vampires and close supporters only. The host was some Wizengamot lobbyist, an influential wizard who made sure no anti-Vampire laws ever passed. All bloody Mary would say was that Corpuscula was likely to attend and that she wasn't going because what would go on, while perfectly legal, was against her sensibilities.

About a hundred beings had come in and just minutes ago they had visual confirmation of the Turn blood entering the club via the back door. Corpuscula came alone but that didn't mean anything. It was late and they were wondering if Gaunt was inside already. Dean was trying to convince her not to proceed with her plan to go in and have a look.

"You're making me nervous," Hermione said to Dean as she made final adjustments to her disguise and make up.

"You should be nervous," Dean pressed on, "The Vampire community is going to be up in arms if they found out we went in there without a warrant. We should call Trussel."

"If you let Trussel know John will find out, and he'll pull us out just like he pulled us off the Wasabi and Knockturn Alley," she replied, frustrated and angry, "This case is ours, and I'm not giving it up for anyone, not even for Harry."

"Look, I know you want to prove a point but the shit will hit the fan," Dean said worried for her, "Not telling them about this lead, following Corpuscula in there without legal in the loop and without back-up...it'll be hard to explain blatant insubordination."

"In the first place, they never asked us if we had any leads," Hermione shrugged without a care. It was not the first time somebody underestimated her which was their mistake, "And it isn't insubordination if we're going in there to investigate a possible illegal vamp camp. If we happen to see Corpuscula we can't just ignore her, can we?"

"You do realize that you are insane."

"I'm just doing my job."

"And bull headed."

"Persistent," she corrected, "We're doing this. We'll be fine if we just stick with the story."

This was one of the few times they argued about work. The truth was she was really pissed about not being trusted with the case and what better way to prove them wrong than find Gaunt themselves. Being told that Gaunt was off limits only made her want to know more. Dean finally gave up talking her out of it.

"Just be very careful."

"I always am. So, what do you have?"

Dean was a gadget man and in moments like these when they were 'on their own' they relied heavily on that fact. While she kept up to date with technological advances herself it was more Dean's interest and he had sources in the Department of Mysteries no one else in the Auror department had. Despite his reservation he was actually prepared and ready, probably because he knew she would go through with it no matter what.

"Wear these," he instructed as he transformed two small pebble-like substances, handing her the resultant large gaudy ornaments.

It took some time to recognize what they were.

"These are earrings?"

"They're an exact copy of Luna's favourite. Why?"

That would explain it. No wonder they looked strangely familiar.

"Nothing."

She begrudgingly clipped them on, thinking how the peacock designs and their many colors clashed with the black outfit she was wearing. Making a mental note to transfigure them later, she watched her partner turn on two monitors and felt the earrings give off a warm vibration. Dean's form lit up as mix of red, green and blue on the screens and the computer immediately identified the image as D. Thomas.

"What is it?"

Dean informed her, "It's called the Magical Imprint Recognizer or the MIR. As you know each being has a unique magical signature. It scans magical energy and matches the imprint against a database."

"Like a fingerprint. And we have one of Gaunt's on file?"

"I wish but it's just out of the box," Dean replied, "I've loaded the database with known ones of Ministry personnel and a few identified dark wizards and witches. But what I really want to do is get Gaunt on the screen so we can add him to the list. I suggest planting one near a strategic location and moving around with the other one."

"How close does it have to get?" she asked.

"I've set it to ten feet. Beyond that my source says it collects and gives conflicting information," Dean answered.

She put the image projector, voice receiver and voice transmitter pods in position, Muggle surveillance rip offs with a slight magical twist in that they were invisible once activated and virtually undetectable. They promptly did a test and found everything in order. As she was about to leave her phone rang. Dean picked it up from where she had left her other personal effects.

"It's Harry," Dean handed her the phone.

She was as puzzled as Dean was. It was one in the morning and Harry never called her this late. What did he want? Did something bad happen?

"Harry?"

"Oh...hi," Harry stammered as if he was caught off-guard that she answered.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, there's nothing wrong," he hurriedly replied then waffled about getting in touch, "I'm sorry, it's late and I shouldn't have called."

"Okay…"

Weird…

"Okay," he echoed what she said, "I guess I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay…in the morning then."

She was about hang up when she heard him exclaim, "Hermione, wait!"

"What? Harry, you're acting really strange," she got to the point; she really didn't have time for this.

"I know, I'm sorry," he apologized again, "I don't mean to frighten you. Can I see you tonight, just for a few minutes?"

Her eyes widened more from panic about what to tell him than concern about why he needed to.

"You mean right now?"

"Yes...unless...sorry...I didn't even ask but if you're with someone... "

"No, I'm just hanging out with Dean," she instantly denied.

Her gesticulating partner distracted her, mouthing 'hanging out' as if that was not a good thing to say.

As she tried to wordlessly ask him why he thought it was a bad idea, Harry sought permission, "So, I can join you then."

"Well, no, not right now," Dean rolled his eyes up, predicting what Harry's response would be. The words stumbled out of her mouth and she could only hope Harry wouldn't insist, "Maybe later…actually better if we meet up in the morning. We're on our way home and I'm feeling a bit knackered."

"Okay."

That was easy.

"Bye."

"Bye."

She disconnected, frowning from the strange conversation.

"Hanging out?" Dean repeated.

"What was I supposed to say?" she defended herself.

"The truth would have been good."

She let out a regretful sigh, "He's management now. I don't want to put him on the spot."

Hermione was still smarting from what Harry told her that afternoon. Kingsley was going with John's recommendation about keeping her and Dean off the case. Since when did Kingsley say 'no' to Harry? Harry was as upset as she was and she didn't push him knowing he had tried his best to bat for her.

"I don't think he bought it," Dean shook his head, "You should have just said you had company."

Maybe next time. Set with a plan to get in undetected, she Disapparated close to the Bat Cave, altered the Luna inspired jewelry and approached the entrance with confident steps, a somewhat difficult endeavor as she was unaccustomed to strutting about in four inch heels. The plan was she would find Corpuscula and tag her until she found Gaunt. Then once Gaunt was clearly in the picture, they would let Harry know.

She got to the entrance and greeted the tall Muggle looking man who stood before her, appraising her from head to toe as muffled music spilled out from beyond the double doors behind him.

"This is a private function," he said immediately, his voice low, deep, unwelcoming.

Dean had visual and spoke into her pod, "Strix, the host's assistant. Don't let the looks fool you. He's a Turn Blood."

Hermione responded, "Ross sent me to help liven up the party."

Ross was a pimp who had a stable of fresh, clean workers, beings of everyone's fancy. She catered only to the rich and famous and charged top galleon for the exclusivity. Bloody Mary suggested posing as one of her girls for Ross, after being Obliviated by a displeased customer recently, was having a bit of difficulty keeping track of who her employees were nowadays.

"I told Ross I needed only five," the vampire said coldly, "She must have forgotten."

"Cranky," Dean ran a commentary, "Looks like we have to go to Plan B."

Hermione preferred the less obtrusive Plan A and tried again, "No, she didn't forget. I'm for free, a token of her appreciation for your business."

Strix seemed unaffected.

"The poor slob just works for the man. He doesn't care. Five galleons say you won't change his mind."

Challenged by Dean's lack of faith, Hermione leaned in closer and whispered into the vamp's ear, "Ross told me to personally make sure you're pleased with the service."

She released a minute dose of Veela blood essence for good measure and the vamp did not have a chance.

"That is so not fair," Dean groaned as the schmuck found someone else to watch the door and let her in.

Nonchalantly charming an earring to stick on the intricate molding at the entrance, she followed glassy eyed Strix past the crowded intermittently lit music filled hall into a long winding corridor. It seemed to go on forever in an incline, losing the booming sound of heavy metal influenced music for a few seconds regaining it as they went up the wooden platform onto the second level. What she saw momentarily immobilized her. It was something she didn't imagine ever being witness to in her life.

"Fuck..." was all Dean could say from the other end.

Fuck just about summed it all up. At the centre of the high ceilinged room highlighted by flashing reddish yellow light from the lower level was a group of fifteen, maybe twenty, naked beings making out and having intercourse with each other. With the foggy view at first she thought it was a projected image until one vampire spectator from the crowd undressed and joined in.

Music up there was as loud as below and the levels were separated by what she hoped was really thick and reinforced see-through glass. She could see what was going on down on the main floor and as many were looking up to see the other show. She was busy taking the scene in that she didn't even notice that Strix had left her side. He was off to the bar, ordering drinks from a thong-clad bartender and she took the moment to speak with Dean.

"Are you getting all this?"

"Unbelievable."

Dean had not recovered from his shock. They had seen a lot of crazy things and heard rumours but this was surreal. So far, the underdressed server was the only thing about the place that was probably illegal. It was a private party and the attendees were all consenting adults. She scanned her surroundings, straining for light, looking for their subject.

"You love Luna. You're getting married. You love Luna. You're getting married," Dean began reciting to himself annoyingly that after a few times she had to say something.

"Get a grip. You don't have to look, you know."

"Easier said than done," Dean replied, "I really have a bad feeling about this. You should leave before Strix gets back. He wants his token of appreciation right now."

She looked over to where Strix was and the man was leering at her, touching himself. Ew...gross.

"I can handle him."

"I'm sure Strix would love it if you did. Remember, Disapparating will trip the security wards and…"

"And the place is sealed tight there's a possibility it will take long to break through. Yeah I remember," she finished for him.

"Hmm, that's something I've never tried before," Dean mused as something had obviously caught his attention.

She scolded him, "Stop taking down pointers and help me find Corpuscula."

"Darn it. Where is that picture of her in throes of passion? I might have better luck recognizing her with it," he was joking of course.

A couple who had been devouring each other close by got up and went through one of a few doors off to the side, presumably into another room for a more private session. As they disappeared, she noticed a young man come out of the room beside it, unsteady, pale and dazed, his shirt collar unbuttoned, exposing fresh puncture marks on his neck. He was being held upright by a vampire, blood dripping from her visible fangs and down her chin. The woman gently coaxed him back into the room.

This was what Bloody Mary was talking about. The party was a recruitment event, perfectly legal as long as the converts were of age and did not die in the process. Vampirism, like lycanthropy was no longer considered an affliction but an alternative lifestyle choice, at least on paper. There were those like Bloody Mary who thought the conversions were wrong, that vampires should be born as such and not made.

"Heads up. Your boyfriend's back," Dean announced.

Strix had two tall phials with steamy pink potions in his hand which rippled to the beat of rock music.

"Try this," he gave her one phial, "It'll relax you."

She pretended to drink obediently, making the potion vanish gradually before it got past her lips.

"What's your name?" Strix asked, working on his potion.

"Luna."

"Ha, ha. Very funny," Dean found it less amusing than she did, "A bit low on creativity tonight, are we."

"That's pretty. You do look radiant like the sun," the man complimented.

"Thank you," she feigned appreciation, "I must say that no one has ever said that about my name before."

"That's because he's a friggin' moron," Dean added, calling it right.

There was a buzz on Dean's end and she heard him curse.

"I'm ready," creepy Strix said out loud, excited.

Hermione pretended not to hear. She was anxious about Dean and had to check up on him.

Facing away from the vampire, she murmured into the transmitter pod, "Are you okay?"

"We're busted," her partner informed her, "Harry is on his way."

"What?!" she shrieked, forgetting where she was.

"I'm patching him through."

"Have you gone mad?" Harry's voice replaced Dean's as Strix guided her hand over to his groin.

Dean replied for her, chuckling, "I don't think she can answer that right now. She has her hands full."

Nice. Sometimes the things she went through to do a good job just weren't worth it.

"I said I'm ready," the vampire, thinking she didn't hear him the first time, screamed over the music.

And quite obviously so from the feel of it - double ew.

"This isn't a good idea, Hermione," Harry said gravely, "Ditch the bloodsucker. You need to get out, now."

She partly agreed. The creep was getting all frisky and his fangs showed the last time he spoke. But she was not leaving, not until she got what she came in for. Harry knew this all too well. She overheard him asking Dean to feed him her exact location. Thinking how things could easily get out of control and how she still had nothing to show for all their effort, she motioned with her eyes over to the rooms where couples were disappearing into.

"Can we go in there?" she asked, taking the opportunity to remove her hand from it’s predicament.

Strix's reply was a hasty 'of course'. He took her into one of the rooms and began undressing the second the door shut. From the brief glimpse she had it was a bedroom, well, a coffin room, and they were alone. As Strix predictably made for her neck she forcefully shoved him off her and Petrified him.

"I'm coming through the door," Harry warned her just as the stiff Strix thudded on the floor.

The entrance cracked a peep and closed, locking as it did. Harry took off his Invisibility Cloak and immediately confronted her.

"Are you trying to get yourself fired?!"

"What?" she questioned his uproar innocently, "We're following up on a tip."

"On a case you know is off limits!"

There was really no need to raise his voice, although she did note he was trying not to.

"I don't know what you're talking about. Dean, do you know what he's talking about?"

"Not a clue," Dean backed her up.

"Do I look like Trussel to you?" Harry didn't believe them, "What exactly are you two up to?"

When she didn't answer Harry asked Dean again and her partner needed no further convincing to get Harry involved.

Dean confessed with contained eagerness, "Gaunt's Wasabi girlfriend is in there somewhere."

"Weak link," she barbed.

"Told you he wouldn't buy it."

"I'll deal with you later."

Harry continued at her, “You don't know what you're getting into with Gaunt."

Hermione retorted, "Only because our own Ministry won't tell us about him. And since when has going in blind been reason not to work a case? Last I read catching dangerous wizards was part of my job or did I miss that memo?"

"Good one," Dean cheered her on, a feeble attempt to get back on her good side.

"Don't you get cheeky with me," Harry warned her and while in the past his disapproval upset her, this one surprisingly didn't, thanks in part to the Hag who gave her lots of practice to question authority without discomfiture.

"Gaunt may not even be here and his girlfriend may have left," she reasoned, hoping not but that was beside the point, "This could be a lame lead. There's no sense waking up the entire team, getting the pro-vampirism community upset and implicating a Wizengamot elder for harbouring a fugitive. We need confirmation and when we get it you can decide what to do."

It was a compromise. She preferred if Harry told her what this was really about but that would mean him going against the Minister himself. Harry had a lot of respect for Kingsley that he would never do something like that. At this point he was calmer and he wasn't summoning additional Aurors onto the scene which, to her, were signs that he was okay with her plan.

She performed Legilimency on the now fuming Vampire, got as much information as she could and then Obliviated him. A sleep charm and a planted dream later, she told Harry what she found out.

"Corpuscula is a frequent guest, a Turner. She should be in one of the rooms up here converting others."

"And Gaunt?"

"Strix doesn't know him."

"We're going to check the rooms," he said out loud for Dean, who she imagined was now getting them more information, "What's your cover?"

He perused her disguise, his eyes wandering from her made up face, tracing the plunging neckline of her apparel down to the tip where her cleavage was purposely exposed. It was probably her imagination but his gaze seemed to have lingered there longer than required before moving lower to the curve of her waist and her hips to below the above-knee hemline to her legs. She blushed.

"Entertainment. The informer suggested it," she managed to finally say.

It wasn't the first time she used the disguise and as it was part of the job it didn't bother her when Dean gave her a glance over to verify believability earlier. It was obviously all her imagination.

Note to self…keep your head together and stop acting like some hormone influenced twit.

"We should probably tone in down a bit," he suggested, "To attract less attention."

There he was stealing a glance at her cleavage again!

"Harry!"

His eyes jerked up quickly, embarrassed, "Sorry."

Dean interrupted the awkward situation, "According to the floor plans, there are nine other rooms all along that narrow corridor."

"What are your exit options?" Harry enquired.

"I was going to walk out the same way I came in," she answered.

"That's it?"

"I figured if I found her we'd get back up."

Harry frowned, as if questioning if she was serious about the lack of an escape plan.

"Oh shit!" Dean yelled out suddenly, "Somebody just tripped off the wards. Security is doing a sweep to investigate."

"How many?" she asked.

"Not sure, I only have them on audio," Dean replied anxiously, "They're on their way up the ramp. You have a minute, maybe two; you might want to start making your way out now."

"I'm not leaving," she was planting her foot down on this one.

Knowing better than to argue, Harry said, "We'll check the rooms first. Dean, find us another way out."

"I'm on it."

She could hear a flurry of activity on Dean's end. They made for the door but went back in as they saw menacing guards interrupting guests at centre stage. They wheeled around wands drawn out, their eyes darting left to right and back, sweeping the windowless room. Her heart was pounding hard and fast her head was throbbing.

Think!

Her focus narrowed down to the small bathroom, the good size coffin and the passed out vampire. Harry beat her to a solution.

"Quick! To the coffin!" he ordered.

Harry moved Strix under it and covered him up with the invisibility cloak. Not exactly what she had in mind.

"I'm not hiding in there!" she said clearly, pointing to the bloodstained foam inside the wooden furniture.

"Why not?!"

Did he really have to ask?

"You know what goes on in this place!" she hissed, "Merlin only knows what grows in there!"

"Now's not the time for this," Harry growled at her.

"Well, why can't he be in the coffin and us under the cloak?" she offered a plausible alternative.

"When was the last time we both fit under my cloak?"

"I'll risk it."

"You have two choices," Harry laid it out for her patiently, "Stay out here and blow your cover or get in the coffin and hope they don't check it."

She let out an exasperated sigh. There was actually a third one but she'd rather be in the coffin than that. Her options limited, she Scourgified the insides while Harry paced, checking the door nervously at the same time.

"Um...they're right outside," Dean coolly reminded them, "I'm counting ten magicals, seven with wands."

She made a motion to Scourgify one more time but Harry couldn't wait anymore. He lifted her up despite her protests, swung her into the softly cushioned box and followed her in, shutting the cover behind him as he did. They were instantly thrown into complete darkness.

He was on top, facing her, trying to prop himself up by the elbows. The space was tight, their bodies were snug and their faces were so close they were breathing the same stale blood smelling air. They could hear footsteps in and about the room followed by muffled conversation. A sudden wave of nausea came over her. She closed her eyes as her breaths became rapid and shallow. Harry sensed it.

"Relax. Slow deep breaths," he whispered near her left ear, his warm words gently stroking the skin just below it, sending goose bumps up and down her spine.

The awareness of his proximity was both reassuring and unsettling. She felt him shaking a bit and, thinking that his arms were probably tired, she shifted slightly to give him more room. That didn't work and instead knocked off his right support causing his body to settle upon hers even more.

"Sorry," he apologized, his breath causing, yet again, a pleasant discomfort.

"It's okay," she muttered back but as she turned and said it her lips grazed the lobe of his ear. Harry stiffened up when it happened it was her turn to apologize, "I'm sorry."

Shit! It happened again.

"I'm so sor..."

"Just stop talking," Harry cut her off this time and exhaled a long controlled breath on her neck.

Geez...more goose bumps and breathing difficulties of a different sort. Perhaps she should tell him to desist from doing that. Fighting off the memory of how his skin felt on her lips, she had to focus on something else.

Her arms. Her arms were pinned beneath them and were becoming numb. She slowly loosened them and upon freeing them up she was faced with a most important decision.

To wrap or not to wrap? And if so, above waist or below?

Maybe she should have left her appendages where they were. She eventually decided on the more awkward but less intimate choice. Not that it made much of a difference for moments later Harry needed another adjustment and he inadvertently caused their forms to find a natural grove against the other.

"Looks like they're leaving," Dean informed them happily.

Merlin...his freshly showered soapy scent had long replaced the bloody odour of the coffin and she could now feel every inch of his firm chest...his strong thighs...the bulge of his...

She moved uncomfortably...bad idea. His right leg fell in between hers and certain parts rubbed where they shouldn't have. Harry let out a low pitched curse.

"What was that?" a clear question was asked by someone in the room, effectively snapping her out of the distraction.

Dean helped them out, "Six are back. Three by the door and three closing in on you from both sides and up top. They just beefed up the wards. Disapparition is not a good option."

"Why do I have to open it?"

"Because I did it the last time!"

"Get him to do it!"

It would be wishful thinking that the arguing would go on much longer.

Thinking strategy, she clasped her wand tightly and said, "You have the top, I got the two on the side."

"You're sure Gaunt's girl is here?" Harry asked her.

"Yes."

"Put your wand away. I have an idea though I don't think you'll like it," Harry said with gravity.

“What?”

“It could work if you don't hex me."

"What?"

"I’m really sorry.”

With those words she felt his mouth descend upon hers, taking it with raw determination and fierceness that caught her both breathless and off-guard. The momentary shock came and went away quickly. She tried to back off and avoid his actions without success, not that she gave it a good earnest try. His fingers were in her hair, caressing, keeping her head in place. He was using more of his body too, pinning hers down and pressing against hers. She wasn't going anywhere soon.

He's pretending. It's okay to pretend. It’s this or get caught with nothing to show for.

Dean was in the dark as they were, "What's going on?"

Harry’s mouth left hers momentarily to answer, "Later."

Right. If Dean found out she’d have to kill them both.

His lips were back and skillfully prodded hers into submission. It only made sense to kiss back. After all it was her who got them into this and Harry was merely trying to save her ass. Hermione let loose and let the moment take her away. She followed his lead, meeting his effort with equal wildness, inviting his tongue in with hers as their kisses became hotter and deeper. Her body rapidly melted underneath his while her idle hands grew minds of their own, wandering to touch and feel the warm flesh underneath the sweater. He moaned against her and the logical next step was to take his top off completely, confirming what she already imagined to be true.

This pretending isn’t so hard to do. Feels kind of real.

His bare torso brushed up against her heightened breasts, causing her to involuntarily sigh against his blistering kiss. It crossed her mind that maybe they were pretending too early and too much but figured now was not the time to discuss the matter.

The casket creaked and a flood of light basked them as the cover suddenly came off. To her dismay they had to abruptly end the snogging and shield their eyes against the brightness. They were both breathless, unarmed and not totally in command of their mental capacities, at least she wasn’t. Harry in all that had the presence of mind to transform himself to be less recognizable and have more vampire-like features.

"What's going on?" Harry asked the wizards with wands, acting as if annoyed by the rude disruption.

“That was my question,” a somewhat suspicious Dean commented.

Hermione could only hope that her swollen lips, spaced out look and disheveled appearance were convincing enough. If not, maybe they should have started making out sooner.

22. Breakfast with Coffin Boy

A/N. Carrying on with the story… we continue at the Bat Cave, more on Gaunt in this part. Then quite a bit of Harry and Hermione in the end.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 22 – Breakfast with Coffin Boy

Harry helped Hermione out of the casket. Just seconds ago, security left in a hurry, hot on the trail of the intruder caught on camera prowling near the main floor exit. It was actually a decoy Dean had dispatched to throw the wizards off.

Darn it! she groaned internally.

Why didn't she think of that earlier, before they hastily jumped into the coffin...before they snogged...before she made a total ass of herself? While moments before she was convinced that what she and Harry were doing made perfect sense, well, that moment had past.

"Are you okay?" he asked her, concern evident deep within his green eyes, the sight of them setting off more internal groaning.

This is so embarrassing...hopefully he's not too freaked out.

"Uh-huh," she lied, "Are you?"

"Yeah," came his answer.

Harry was lying too. He was just as freaked out. At least they saw it the same way. To talk about it would make it a bigger deal than it was.

Dean butted in, "You're okay, Harry's okay. Excellent."

"We should look for Corpuscula. Security could come back," Harry pointed out.

"True," she replied.

"Sounds good," Dean echoed, "But before that, Harry, you might want to put some clothes on."

They both looked down at his state of undress and began the frantic search for the missing apparel. She found the navy blue sweater inside the coffin, picked it up and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he acknowledged, donning it.

"And…" Dean added while she conjured a wet nap, "…you might want to rub off Hermione's lipstick from your mouth."

Harry took the moist towelette from her and obediently did. Both of them were blushing somewhat and neither had the guts to look at the other.

"There, that's better," Dean said stoically and concluded, "Now it'll be much easier for the two of you to pretend that never happened."

Harry was apologetic, "I'm really sorry."

"It's done with," she answered dismissively then warned, "And if either of you breathe one word about this to someone else..."

"I won't," Harry didn't let her finish.

"Me neither," Dean echoed, "But let me ask one thing. How was it?"

"Don't you even think about answering that question!" she threatened Harry who was about to open his mouth.

"Come on," Dean whined, "I promise I won't tell."

"Dean! We're in the middle of a bloody case!" she exclaimed in utter disbelief.

Blag!Blag!Blag!Blag!Blag!

The urgent pounding on the door made them jump, immediately drawing their wands out. Dean was on it straight away.

"One being, definitely magical, wizard from the looks of it," he identified for them.

Harry tried to send the person away, "We're busy. Come back in half an hour."

She rolled her eyes up in exasperation. Could he not think of an excuse that was of a different theme?

"Bullshit. No woman is worth more than ten minutes in the sack," answered an all too familiar voice adding to her irritation.

"You told him?!"

Harry didn't respond, unlocked the door and let Gates in, asking, "What took you so long?"

"Quite a show out there," Gates replied casually, motioning behind him, "Had to stop and watch. Who do I speak with to get invited to this party? Whoa!!! Granger? Is that you?!"

Gates stopped dead in his tracks. He had just noticed her and was now openly staring at her bare parts.

"What?!" she glared at Gates.

"Nothing. Just admiring the unexpected view," Gates replied smugly. "Who would have known?"

"And this is truce?" she spoke to Harry, arms crossed, eyebrows arched, now doubting his claim that he spoke with Gates.

Harry refocused them, "Gaunt's girlfriend is up here somewhere. We have nine rooms to search and..."

"And unless we find her or Gaunt we're not supposed to be here. Got it," Gates finished for him, morphing himself into the passed out Strix so accurately and quickly it impressed even her. He addressed Harry, "Here's the plan. You check out the rooms across. The whore and I will pretend to be looking for privacy on this side. If we see her or Gaunt, Thomas will announce. We'll meet you at the end of the hallway."

Gates swung his arm over her shoulders and gave her a not so gentle squeeze.

For the love of …! Note to self…never use this cover ever again.

"This 'whore' is out of service," she said, moving away and stepping out of his embrace.

“Get in character. Whores do what they’re told to do.”

"Who the fuck put you in charge?"

"You're with me," Harry made an executive decision and motioned them over to the door, "Come on."

They split up, Dean assisting her and Harry using the MIR. The first two rooms on their side were unoccupied. Inside the third was a threesome who generously invited them to join in. They politely declined. Gates as Strix was at the end of the corridor waiting for them as they got to their last room.

"She's not on my side," Gates reported.

That left them with one room, the larger one.

"There’s a big crowd," Dean laid out the scenario for them, "I'm seeing thirty magicals, maybe more, huddled in the centre."

"We can't just walk in there," Hermione thought it prudent to be cautious.

"Why not?" Gates challenged, re-transforming into his normal appearance.

Before Harry could stop him, Gates turned the doorknob and boldly stepped into the room. Several pairs of eyes were upon them; a mix of vampires and humans, magicals and Muggles.

"Hi there," the idiot waved to the visibly hostile congregation, "Sorry to interrupt. I'm looking for a friend of mine. He's a wizard, Caucasian, about this tall, somewhat ugly, goes by the name of Morpheus Gaunt. Has anyone seen the fucker?"

A figure from the front row stepped forward, raised his hand, “That would be me.”

There was total silence. Hermione strained against the dim lighting. It was indeed Morpheus Gaunt.

“It’s so nice to see you again,” Gates greeted.

Dean sounded off, “The MIR says he’s Thomas Park. Who the fuck is Thomas Park?”

Hermione had heard of the name before but where?

Harry instructed Dean with a sense of urgency, "Get John right now. Give him that name. He'll know what to do. Warren, did you get that?"

Gates gave an imperceptible nod.

“The feeling isn’t mutual. Everybody, meet Warren and his soon to be dead colleagues,” Gaunt introduced, “Warren and corpses, this is everybody.”

Out of the corner of her eye she thought she saw movement. Things unfolded rapidly. One moment she was looking in from the outside, the next moment Harry had pushed her away from the entrance and behind the wall for cover. Shots of light narrowly missed them as shrieking screams of panic emanated from within. Warren, who was just inside the entrance had dropped to the ground, avoiding the curses which shattered the wooden panel lining the corridor. He rolled away and she lost visual.

The ruckus spread quickly and there was chaos in front of her, behind and on the level below.

Stupefy!

Incarcerous!

Expelliarmus!

Hermione fired at targets inside the room disabling some of their foes but there were a lot more. Harry was covering her blind side as unfriendlies approached from all possible angles.

"Harry, John's on the other line. He says the arrest team is on their way and he wants us to hold our position," Dean's tense voice crackled in her ear.

Considering their target could leave any moment (if he hadn’t already) it was apparent John wouldn’t get what he wanted. She saw Harry's face harden with anger and frustration as she fried a couple of bats that were on attack.

"Tell him to wear his balls and screw what the Canucks want! We’re not waiting like we did at the Wasabi so he better send back up!"

They continued to fight off the incoming hexes as Dean paraphrased Harry's message, "John, holding position is not an option. They’re in a tight spot and they need help right now…John says he’ll see what he can do. What the fuck is going on?!"

She had the very same question.

"Park is an escaped convict from a mental health facility for the criminally insane. You just confirmed tonight that he and Gaunt are one and the same,” Harry summarized, ”But the Canadians insist on not involving our Aurors with the arrest."

“Why?” Dean had to know.

She answered, remembering who Tom Park was, “Because Park mind controls and he uses something different from your garden variety Imperius curse. He once turned the entire Moscow Auror team against each other. The Canadians don’t want to be responsible.”

Dean swore again, “I’m coming in.”

Hermione reconsidered their options. They really had to move. They were sitting ducks where they were and Gates probably needed help.

"We have to get inside!" Harry read her mind.

He fired a succession of curses to give her cover. She slipped in, found a nearby support column to use as a shield and drew fire. Just as Harry got in and disappeared from her sight, a crashing sound behind her caught her attention. It was Gates wrestling with three pissed off vamps and not doing well. He had lost his wand.

"I could use some help here!" he said to her.

"Next time, say 'please'," she replied, Stunning a couple off until incoming hexes forced her to go into defense mode, leaving him with one to contend with.

"Granger!" Gates strained as the vampire, who she now recognized as Corpuscula, gained upper hand and was about to sink her teeth into his neck.

With urgency, she conjured a wooden stake, aimed and shot it deep into the vampire's back, piercing through her heart and an inch past her breastbone. Gates pushed the slumped figure off him and went to retrieve his wand.

“A thank you would have been nice,” she muttered to herself.

A group of humans darted in front of her, arms waving up high, terrified looks on their faces. Confused and frightened civilians were making their way out of the room.

"Don't shoot!"

"We’re not armed!"

“Let us out!”

It became difficult to distinguish between them and the enemy, which made her wonder. There was an eerie absence of hostile fire. Where was the enemy?

Gates almost hexed Dean as the latter walked through the door. She whirred around filled with pressing compulsion to search for and find Harry. They heard the sound of a skirmish around the bend and rushed towards it where they found Harry at wandpoint, Gaunt holding what looked like his holly wand.

"Drop your weapons," Gaunt commanded.

"Don't listen to him. He's not going to hurt anyone," Harry said calmly without taking his eyes off his captor.

"Drop them or he gets it."

She and Dean did and she wanted to smack Gates at the back of the head for not doing as he was told.

"I want my wand back," Harry requested.

"Give him his wand back, Tom," Gates chimed in.

Gaunt appeared confused, shaking his head, "No."

"I said, I want my wand back," Harry repeated more firmly.

She thought they were mental to think they could convince Gaunt to do something so idiotic but to her and Dean's astonishment, he did hand it over handle first to Harry.

"Thanks," Harry took it.

"You're welcome," Gaunt replied politely.

"We're going home, okay?" Gates spoke softly.

"Okay," Gaunt's reply was almost childlike, simple minded, and she could only think Harry and Gates were responsible for that.

Gates cast a sleep charm over him and administered a phial of medication through his arm.

"Go to sleep," Harry suggested.

She and Dean looked at each other both puzzled about what that was all about.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry went straight to the Head Auror’s office the minute he got back from Toronto. It was about an hour after they got Park back in custody. John, Humptail and Trussel were waiting for him. The mood was gloomy and intense and on John’s desk was a parchment he recognized. Was he serious?

“I’m giving Dean one week suspension without pay,” John opened what was going to be an ugly conversation.

He didn’t answer. John was saving the worse for last. He took a big breath in and out to keep his cool, this being an absolute must.

“I’m letting Hermione go,” John continued as expected.

“Was this your idea?” Harry accused Trussel who hesitated.

“It was obvious insubordination,” Humptail spoke for Trussel.

“It was a stupid order,” he pointed out.

“But an order nonetheless,” John rebutted.

Harry could feel his insides coming to a slow boil. No, he would not let them do this.

“She’s an excellent Auror. If not for her and Dean Park would still be at large. You’re going to fire an excellent Auror for this?”

“She’s a liability. She’s stubborn and she wants things done her way all the time,” Trussel found his voice, his tone caustic. “This wasn’t the first time she and Thomas did something like this.”

“You don’t like her because she thinks and she’s smarter than all of us combined,” he stated the obvious. “You don’t like her because she makes you look and feel like a moron, not that you should unless you are.”

Trussel turned purple. One down two to go.

“Even the Hag thinks she shouldn’t be an Auror,” Humptail brought up the training, “She’ll be better off working somewhere else in the Ministry.”

“That may be true but that should be her choice,” Harry replied, “Is this final? Have you told her?”

John was shaking his head, “Not yet. She’s off the rest of today and we’re awaiting final reports. I’ll talk to her tomorrow.”

Hermione getting fired from a job she loved and dedicated herself to was injustice and unimaginable. It was wrong and it would destroy her. The next step seemed to be a logical one.

“If you’re going to do that then you’re going to have to fire me too.”

“Harry, don’t act like a petulant child,” John tried to reason with him, insulting him at the same time.

Humptail chimed in, “She’s your friend and that’s the only reason we’re keeping you in the loop. Are you sure you’re okay throwing your promising career out the window for her?”

If it weren’t for her he wouldn’t be alive to have a ‘career’ but details like that counted for nothing as far as the three other men with him were concerned.

“But you should fire me. I knew what she and Dean were up to,” that wasn’t totally a lie. “I told them to go ahead.”

“No, you didn’t,” Humptail challenged.

“Are you calling me a liar?” he challenged back.

Humptail retreated. Harry was done tiptoeing around him. Two down.

“Harry, don’t do this,” John pleaded, “Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.”

“It was my call and I’m not letting her and Dean hang out to dry for obeying my order. I deserve the same punishment you decide to give them, if not more. Do what you must.”

John was upset, too upset he couldn’t speak. As Harry stepped out of the office he overheard Trussel say that he was bluffing. A part of him dared them to call his bluff. He went off to find Hermione.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione and Dean were back at their desks at the Ministry, paperwork for the Bat Cave case just completed. Her partner was teasing her.

“It was an act,” she tried to explain as she slipped her coat on.

“And a good one,” Dean retorted back, “The moaning, the groaning…”

“We had to do it.”

“Of course you did. It was part of the job and you would have done it even if it wasn’t Harry.”

Right…

“And just to be perfectly clear,” he said plainly, “If we were ever it that same situation and it’s a choice between that and fighting to our deaths, no offense but I would rather die.”

“Duly noted. You're never going to let me forget this, are you?”

“Not a chance,” Dean was grinning, “Poor Harry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you not notice the deer in the headlights look?”

She had to chuckle. It was funny now, especially that Harry wasn’t there.

Dean put his jacket on, “You should talk to him.”

“You think so?” she wasn’t sure.

“Well, I don’t know,” Dean backtracked, “It’s probably too late. I’m sure the whole thing has scarred him for life.”

Dean laughed, she smiled.

“Prat.”

They made their way and got on a lift.

“Hey.”

It was Harry. A somber, brooding, all serious Harry. She wondered how Toronto was.

“We were just talking about you,” Dean answered, holding the door open for him.

“You were?”

While that livened up Harry’s spirits a bit, Hermione could strangle Dean. Her partner was ignoring her dagger looks.

“Hermione just figured out another nickname for you.”

“I did not!”

“The Boy Who Snogged Me in a Coffin. Coffin Boy for short.”

The lift doors opened and their laughter spilled into the hollow and literally deserted Ministry Atrium. Dean was practically in tears, Harry was holding on to his side.

“That is so not true! I swear! He made it up, I didn’t!”

“I can’t believe you two actually went through with that,” Dean was still in stitches.

“I can’t either,” Harry answered.

They were weaving through construction and got to the designated Disapparition area.

“I’ll see you guys tomorrow,” Dean waved, giving her a knowing smile.

Her partner disappeared, leaving them on their own with a good sedge way to talk and address the awkwardness that was bound to happen if they didn’t.

“Dean can be horrible sometimes,” she said to him, “Honestly, it wasn’t me who made that up.”

“I know,” he reassured her, “Listen, about the thing, I mean the um…you know…”

“The kissing,” she helped him out.

“Yes, the kissing. It was the first thing that came to mind and…”

“Harry…”

“…I may have started it earlier than I should have but…”

“Harry…”

“…I thought they were going to open the casket sooner and we ended up kissing longer and when I felt your um…tongue…things kind of got out of hand…

“Harry, stop!” she finally got his attention, but not in time to prevent him from re-telling the part that embarrassed her the most, “It was bad judgment on both sides and I’m sure we both learned from it. I just don’t want things to change between us.”

“I don’t want things to change between us either. I’m really sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you don’t have to be,” she reasoned, thinking how his being ‘really’ sorry twice now was putting a major dent on her ego. “Let’s just put this behind us.”

He seemed relieved, “Okay. But can I make a minor suggestion?”

“If you must. Am I really that bad a kisser?” she might as well make light of the matter.

Harry picked up on it, “No, actually, that was one of the best snogs I’ve had in a long while.”

Define ‘long’.

“It was definitely the best one I’ve had in a casket,” she admitted, him being the only one she had kissed in one.

“Mine too.”

That made them both smile.

“Your suggestion?” she redirected him.

“Ah, yes. I was just thinking that you may find yourself in such a situation again.”

“No chance of that. It’s been decided that fighting to my death is a preferable alternative.”

“Right. Um…well just in case, the first part was okay, the light touching…

Squirm, squirm…

And he wasn’t done, “…and even the undressing may have been justified…”

“God Harry. It’s almost 4am. Get to the point.”

“The French kiss has no place in pretend kissing,” and now that he said it he was having a hard time trying to keep a straight face.

“I was going for authenticity.”

Not intentionally…

“I understand where you’re coming from but your attention to detail may be deemed inappropriate and unprofessional by some.”

“I see,” she nodded, and couldn’t help but point out, “It’s kind of difficult when we don’t have guidelines and rules about pretend kissing while in the line of duty.”

“I dare you to get something like that added onto the MOO.”

That made them laugh and she said something about maybe taking him up on that dare.

“Heading home?” he asked her.

She nodded, “You?”

“Actually I was thinking of having breakfast,” he said poker-faced.

“Seriously?”

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” Harry was only saying that; he missed breakfast all the time, “Do you want to join me?”

“I’m going straight to bed and so should you.”

“This means we won’t wake up ‘til noon and all the more reason we should have breakfast now.”

She chuckled, “I’m too tired to argue the lack of sense in that.”

“Come on,” he prodded. “Please, I could use the company.”

“Fine,” she relented, “Where?”

She was thinking which 24H diner they could go to.

“Finnigan’s.”

“Finnigan’s is closed.”

“Finnigan’s is never closed, not to a part owner,” he gave her a broad smile.

In no time they were standing in the spacious Finnigan kitchen, the rest of the bar/restaurant empty and quiet. Harry had offered to cook and he would have no arguments there. He put an apron on and rubbed his palms together.

She smiled as it dawned on her and mumbled to herself, “It’s a ritual.”

“What?”

“Before cooking, you always rub your hands together after you put your apron on,” she was amused that after all this time there were still some things that she didn’t know about him.

He shrugged, “I never really noticed. So, what would you like for breakfast?”

She wasn’t really hungry but didn’t want him to feel bad. Really, all this attention was a bit overwhelming. Aside from her parents, no one had ever asked her what she wanted for breakfast.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Are you sure? What I’m having is pretty unhealthy.”

“I think I’ll risk it.”

While he cooked he told her about Toronto, about Gaunt/Park and about what he thought was the real reason why the Canadians didn’t want help getting the convict back into custody. And now that the case was closed Hermione wanted to get the story straight in her head.

“The Canadians don’t want it known that Park has an extra-ordinary skill in persuasion. They think the international community would insist on studying him,” he shared.

“Can’t say I’d blame them if they did. There are very few unique magical talents out there.”

“But that’s how he escaped the last time. A group of healers wanted to do some tests and he ordered them to help him get out. He’s quite dangerous to the average human.”

“Who guards him,” she asked.

“Hired Dementors. And that’s a big thing for a country that’s reputed to be soft on crooks and criminals.”

“So Park escaped three months ago, turned up briefly in Moscow before assuming the Gaunt identity,” Hermione clarified, “But you didn’t know Gaunt was Park at the Wasabi?”

“No we didn’t,” he replied, “We thought they were working together. That was why we didn’t arrest Gaunt. We needed him to lead us to Park. Had we had someone more brilliant helping us with the case we might have figured out sooner that they were one and the same person. How do like your eggs?”

“Over easy. What was the Wasabi about?” she set up a small table for two.

“We needed to draw Park out into the open. He had mentioned the Resurrection Stone and the Peverells to one of his shrinks,” Harry took off his apron, walked over to the table, set down the French toast, bacon and eggs, and sat opposite her. “He was orphaned at a young age and was obsessed about ways to bring back the dead.

“So Gates and his partner were posing as Peverells and you used Burkes to get that message out,” she said and took a bite of the French toast.

“Uh-huh.”

Harry wasn’t kidding about being hungry. Breakfast which took him ten minutes to prepare was gone in about the same time. Sipping slowly from his pumpkin juice in hand, he didn’t seem to be in a rush to leave.

“Dean told me about Australia.”

“What did he say?”

“After talking to you he’s now wondering if they’re making the right decision.”

She groaned, “I told him not to listen to me.”

“Why shouldn’t he?”

“Because I’m the last person he should listen to when it comes to relationships.”

“I thought you gave him sound advice,” he seemed earnest. “Brutal but sound. And just because your one relationship with a guy didn’t work out, that doesn’t make your opinions less valuable.”

“Correction. I’ve had many failed relationships only each and every one of them happened to be with the same guy.”

He chuckled at her attempt at humour, “Still. Don’t think your opinions don’t count. The experience should make you more confident.”

“Confidence only comes when you’ve actually done something right.”

“Was that why you and Ron kept on coming back to each other? To get it right?”

“I guess that was part of it. I was stupid to think practice makes perfect applies all the time.“

“And the other part? “

“He was the only guy who was really interested.”

“Hogwash.”

“You think I’m lying?”

“I know you’re lying. You’ve gone out with other men.”

“Pigs who were most interested in running the bases first before figuring out if the actually liked the pitch and not the other way around,” somebody stop her now, “There are no real gentlemen out there anymore.”

“Ouch.”

“There are no knights in shining armour sweeping us off our feet, showering us with affection, attention, love. Case in point, flowers.”

“Flowers?” he was finding all this amusing.

“Where have all the flowers gone?” she rambled, serious and not so serious, “And don’t get me started about those who pretend they’re knights and can’t stay on the bloody horse. The armour is tarnished, chivalry is dead.”

“A bit bitter about that are we?”

“Generations of women before us had it and we won’t ever experience it. Our daughters and their daughters won’t know what it’s like. Damn straight I’m bitter!”

They laughed at her somewhat true rant.

“Are we really that bad?” he asked and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes.

“Well, not all of you.”

“Your ex-knight will be at the Burrow tonight,” his tone sobered up and he was probing her reaction, “Jill’s coming too.”

She had forgotten about that detail. Molly was throwing Ginny a party, family and close friends only. Both she and Harry were invited and Ron and his girlfriend were going to be there. That was tonight. Great.

“Are you going?” Harry asked.

“I promised Ginny I would,” she couldn’t hide how unenthusiastic she was to go, “Are you?”

“I don’t know,” he was unsure, “It’s for Ginny and I don’t want to ruin it for her.”

“As long as you don’t bring Bimbo Three with you, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” at least she hoped it would be.

“Are you bringing someone?”

“No,” was the plan; the less baggage the quicker and easier the escape, just in case.

They got up almost at the same time and began clearing their mess. Once that was done they left Finnigan’s and walked to her rented flat in silence. She told him he didn’t have to walk with her but he insisted. It had been a long night and this was a great way to end it.

“So, will I see you tonight?” she asked as she unlocked the wards to her flat. When it seemed that he was going to say ‘no’ she added, “You should at least wish her luck before she goes.”

He realized she was right and requested, “Let her know I’m coming? So it won’t be a surprise.”

“I will. And I’ll let you know if she prefers you weren’t there,” she somehow knew that was the other thing he wanted.

Harry nodded.

“I’ll see you later.”

He turned away to leave when she suddenly remembered.

“Harry,” she caught him in time, “When you called me earlier, what was that about?”

He squirmed uncomfortably, “It’s kind of embarrassing. I really shouldn’t have.”

“So what was it?”

“I had a bad dream.”

This was so unexpected, kind of left her almost speechless.

“You had a bad dream and you called me?”

Harry hesitated again. For some reason he was suddenly exhibiting a lack of confidence.

“It was childish, I know, as I said I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

Was he really this dense?

“Don’t be silly,” she put him at ease, “Sure, I was in the middle of a case I wasn’t supposed to be working on but it was no bother. However, at this point I’m gonna hurt you if you don’t tell me what the bad dream was about.”

That drew a chuckle from him and relaxed him somewhat. When the smile faded away, he looked at her with a frown and told her about his nightmare.

“I had a dream that you died,” he paused, the frown turning into more of a grimace, “It was so vivid I had to know that you didn’t. That’s why I called.”

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23. Breaks in the Norm and More of the Usual

A/N. This took a while. Thanks for your patience. Hope you enjoy. Hermione loses it in this one.

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Chapter 23 – Breaks in the Norm and More of the Usual

Hermione passed a plate of sugar free brownies to Ron who was sitting beside her. This Weasley dinner seating arrangement was not by her choice.

"Both look delicious," said an upbeat voice two places from where she sat, "Which do you think I'll like best?"

That was Jill, Ron's happy perky Pollyanna girlfriend, soliciting his opinion.

"I think you'll like the pie better, honey," Ron answered, handing her the home made blackberry pastry.

"Do you really think so?" Jill sought confirmation, hanging onto Ron's every word.

"I know so," was Ron's cheerful reply which led to his girlfriend's giggling.

Hermione was going to puke. This had been going on all throughout dinner and she had to hear every blasted word of it. She caught Ginny's eye who had witnessed the entire exchange, giving her the signal. They got up simultaneously each with near empty dessert trays and headed for the kitchen.

"Is she for real?" she asked Ginny.

"I'm afraid so."

Ginny filled her tray with more tarts and put more brownies on Hermione's.

"You're right. This is so yummy. I'm thinking about having seconds. What do you think?" Jill's annoying voice grated.

"Does she ever decide anything on her own?" Hermione still found it hard to believe.

"I don't think she's allowed yet," they both sniggered at Ginny's quip, trying not to distract the other guests. As their laughter died down her friend enquired seriously, "How are you holding up?"

Hermione shook her head, trying not to think about it and attempting her best to keep the lid on emotions she had been hiding since meeting her ex's girlfriend. She thought she had timed it perfectly, coming just before dinner was announced and hoping to stay until after dessert. And it wasn't the first time she had seen Ron with another woman. She anticipated awkwardness but she didn't imagine it would make her feel this insecure. Maybe it was because Jill was Ron's first serious relationship since they broke up and the fact that they were 'happy' right in her face resulted in quite a few ugly conclusions about herself. They heard Jill chortle at one of Ron's jokes.

"My jaws ache from smiling."

Parts of her that had not hurt in a while did and tears pooled in her eyes. Ginny understood not to let her elaborate further. To do so would be catastrophic.

Get a grip. You're not even in love with him anymore.

Hermione composed herself, "I'm sorry. I'm gonna have to bail on you."

"I shouldn't have insisted you come," her best friend said to her remorsefully, concerned, "Are you gonna be okay? I can leave now..."

"Don't be ridiculous. This party is for you, remember? And I should be fine," she was hopeful she would be once she got away from the Burrow. She volleyed the question back, "Are you?"

Hermione followed Ginny's gaze over to the end of the long dining table where Harry was talking with Bill and Fleur, sharing his funny stories about being godfather to a five year old.

Ginny replied with restrained hopefulness, "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."

"Good," Hermione said encouragingly, "I want details."

"My flat, tomorrow, help me pack," Ginny reminded her and then went back to the table with the dessert trays.

As Ginny took her place beside Harry, Hermione snuck a peak to gauge how he was doing. He was definitely not as tense as he was when they spoke about the Burrow this morning. It seemed like he was genuinely enjoying himself, cheering Bill and Fleur's adorable three year old daughter on as she sang songs she learned from mini-witch's school. In the midst of the impromptu concert he looked up and caught her watching him, worry on his face.

"Are you okay?" he mouthed.

She nodded and without even thinking inaudibly replied "I'm fine". She waited for Victoire to finish, approached Mrs. Weasley and told the older woman she had to leave.

"But it's early," Mrs. Weasley pointed out, loud enough that half the family heard.

"I'm really sorry but Mum asked me to ring her and Dad tonight," she reasoned, knowing daughterly duty was about the only excuse Mrs. Weasley wouldn't find rude or offensive.

It was kind of true. Her Mum, who was in Australia enjoying semi-retirement with her Dad, did leave messages for her to call. Hopefully Mrs. Weasley wouldn't realize it was five a.m. in Perth.

"Well, I hope you had a good time," the older woman said, disappointment in her voice.

Mrs. Weasley was probably the only person left on earth rooting for her and Ron's reconciliation. And she had been absolutely devastated by Harry's and Ginny's break up. The family gathering was an attempt to, in her words, 'right the wrong'.

Hermione couldn't really fault her for trying. With all her own children grown and out of the Burrow and Mr. Weasley busier than ever in charge of a growing Department at the Ministry, she had lots of time in her hands than she knew what to do with. Her hobby was doting on grandchildren (she didn't have enough) and she was partial to who her children had children with. Considering she wasn't consulted in the selection of her present crop of daughters in law, there was considerable pressure on Charlie, Ron and Ginny to make the right choices. Jill was clueless and that was a good thing.

Hermione tried reassuring her, "Of course I did. Thank you for inviting me."

"Say hello to your Mum and Dad for me," Mrs. Weasley hugged her and then whispered tearfully, "You're always welcome here."

"I know," she answered hugging back, feeling awful about the fact that while she may have been welcome, now that she was no longer Ron's girlfriend, she felt like she didn't belong.

She thanked Mrs. Weasley again and bade goodbye to Mr. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Charlie (who thankfully came alone and shared fascinating stories about dragons with her), Percy and Audrey, George and Angelina, Ron and Jill (with whom she made an effort to be more upbeat), and Ginny and Harry. To go home to her rented flat straightaway would mean spending the rest of the night crying over some silly thing so she Disapparated to one of two places she could completely loose herself in - the Ministry.

It was eight p.m. There were very few people still at work and she found their squad room deserted. Weaving through the aisles she got to her neat and organized desk at the far corner of the room, put her cup of coffee down and stowed her purse away. With a wave of her wand her things-to-do arranged themselves in the order she had prioritized them. She then took the first item on top, a parcel she had not seen before.

Unmarked except for her name written in a familiar scribble she unwrapped it, her curiosity piqued at why he would even dare mess with her stuff. There was a note.

Chivalry is not dead. Don't give up on us.

He signed it CB.

CB, she laughed inwardly and read it again, the use of the lame nickname a testament to how over time he developed this playfulness. While still basically a brooder, the death of Voldemort with the influence of the Weasleys occasionally brought out this lighter side to him, a side they all were relieved to see. She was about to put the note away when the parchment began to unravel and transform; stems, leaves, buds and finally, light orange reddish petals. Tulips, a dozen of them, the sight of which lifted her up from the doldrums.

This was unexpected. Harry was not normally thoughtful, a minor 'flaw' that Ginny, at one stretch earlier in their relationship, had been somewhat frustrated about. Hermione conjured a vase for the flowers and set it on her desk, enjoying the unusual addition to her workspace for some time. It had been a while since someone gave her flowers. With a smile on her face, she grabbed the next item on her list with a bit more enthusiasm - the Morpheus Gaunt-Thomas Park file.

Reviewing her closed cases was something she always did. It was to ensure she didn't miss anything and it also made her more solidly cast them in memory. Flipping to the case summary page she read through Gates' final notes.

The Canadian Auror wrote that the legally-insane convict admitted to using the Imperius to influence others to work for him, choosing unwary and unlikely subjects. That explained the paucity of criminal records amongst those who were arrested and killed. It was Park himself who murdered his underlings at Knockturn Alley to prevent the MLE from finding out who Morpheus Gaunt really was.

What wasn't clear was why go through all the trouble of assuming another identity? If he was using the Gaunt disguise to hide, why commit high profile crimes as a Dark Wizard relative? That didn't make sense.

Hermione was also disappointed that nobody asked Park why he chose to be 'Morpheus Gaunt' and that Gates was vague about the arrest method he and Harry used. She wasn't so sure if it was the Imperius, the only Unforgivable the MLE, with prior permission, was allowed to use in the line of duty. From notes she read that Park was known to be resistant to it and it made her wonder. She had heard of a recently developed spell in the DOM lab, the Superius, or what others were calling the fourth Unforgivable. It was similar to the Imperius with two important exceptions; one, it was very difficult to master so that not many could do it which was a good thing because two, it was more effective than the Imperius. There was no individual who could block it. Maybe Harry could tell her exactly what it was.

Making note to inform the victims' families in the morning and hopefully give them some closure, she put the file away with a festering thought that it was lacking something and went on to the next item on her list. Percy had mentioned over dinner that Legal had finally looked at her proposal to shorten the MLE case documentation process, a project borne of the necessity to decrease the profanity count in the Squad room during reporting . She reviewed Legal's suggestions and did more editing, then some more, and then some more.

Time passed quickly. Hours later she had gone through the rest of her to-do's (including a call to her Mum and Dad in Perth) and was at Finnigan's having a drink, chatting business with Seamus as he tended the bar.

"Hey," Seamus greeted a newcomer behind her, "The usual?"

She glimpsed back and was glad to see who it was.

"Yeah, thanks," Harry answered, took the empty seat beside her and teased, "Brilliant escape. Did you at least attempt to call your Mum before coming here?"

"Spoke with them a few minutes ago," she replied.

"How are they?"

"Fine. Mum's busy finding a new partner for the clinic. She and Dad are taking up surfing; they were in a rush to catch the morning waves," she couldn't hide her concern about that.

"They'll be fine," Harry picked up on it, "I hear its fun."

"They're sixty, Harry. Surfing is not a sport to be taking up at sixty," she pointed out.

"I think it's great that they're trying something new."

He would. She was still unconvinced and would visit them at the first real opportunity to get away. Seamus set Harry's drink on the counter and went off to serve a group of clients who just arrived. Harry downed the shot in one motion and summoned a half filled bottle on display, filling his glass and hers.

"Trussel and Humptail are quite pissed about the Bat Cave," he said to her, a warning about some sort of a consequence to insubordination.

"Any word on what it's gonna be?"

"A week's suspension," he watched her reaction and was surprised, "You think that's fair."

“I probably deserve more. And Dean?”

She was more concerned for her partner.

“A stern warning.”

Hermione nodded, relieved, and took a sip of her drink. Harry was still puzzled by her reaction to the whole suspension thing. There was a time in the not so remote past when that would have upset her, when punishment from superiors would drive her insane. But she felt no remorse for her actions and would do the same thing she did without even thinking twice. She did the crime so she would do the time. This was good; the unexpected break would give her the time to visit her parents.

Harry was kind of amused, “You might want to at least appear more upset when you find out officially. Just to make them feel better.”

“Belligerent or remorseful upset?”

“I think the former will be more in keeping with character. I don’t think you can act well enough to pull remorse off,” Harry said chuckling then seriously added, “So what's behind this?”

“This?” she was stalling knowing perfectly well what he wanted to know.

“This intolerance for bosses and impatience for working within rules.”

She lifted her brows, “Do I really have to answer that?”

Of all people Harry should understand this. Despite being a part of the new Ministry they never really reformed from all the rule breaking they did at Hogwarts. And from that War they learned that not everyone in authority could be fully trusted.

Harry admitted, “Fine. I'm just worried that you're not as cautious about it as you have been in the past. It's as if you're daring them to do something about you.”

“Why would I do something stupid like that?”

He asked again, this time the question wasn't rhetorical, “Do you want to get fired?”

“Of course not.”

She didn’t, really.

“Well antagonizing the bosses won't earn you Squad leader either.”

That was the logical next step. Middle management. She had no desire to go through that but she wanted to make a difference, influence policy, effect lasting change. To do that she had to play politics, the thought of which wasn't appealing. The third option was to stay a field Auror and continue pushing limits to get the job done correctly.

“Maybe the Hag was right. Maybe I'm not cut out for this,” she blurted out, filters off.

“It doesn't matter what the Hag thinks. If you want to stay an Auror, I strongly recommend behaving for next little while. If you don't, hand in your resignation and try not to burn the place on your way out.”

She nodded in response to the unsolicited sound advice. Another rarity, maybe even a first. In the past she was the one who dished out recommendations.

“What? Did I say something wrong?” he enquired, probably curious about the frown on her face.

Hermione replied in the negative kind of wondering if this version of Harry was temporary or permanent. She guessed she'd have to wait and see.

They seem to have drifted off to their own little worlds after. Before Harry arrived she had already worked herself up to a perfect, relaxed buzz just enough so that sleep would come quickly when she got home. She didn't plan on having more but now that Harry was there she did want to stay for a bit. She could no longer feel the burn of alcohol as she swallowed that last one - that was usually not a good sign.

"The flowers were lovely," she said to him not looking but grinning up to her ears as she remembered what he wrote.

She could hear the smile in his voice too, "I wasn't sure if you liked tulips."

"Dandelions would have made my day. I'm easy."

That made him laugh, "Best keep that to yourself in a place like this."

She chuckled and blushed, thinking how she was impartial to tulips before but definitely thought them special now. That was the firewhiskey doing its thing.

"So, how did the rest of dinner go?"

"It was okay."

"Just okay?"

"It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be."

She took another mouthful and swallowed, "Ginny said the same thing."

"Yeah, she told me."

Harry swigged. His tone was pensive and filled with cautious optimism just as Ginny's had been.

Hermione was happy for them, fully and truly, but uninhibited and depressed by alcohol she couldn't keep certain harmful feelings from surfacing. In plain and simple reality, she was jealous. She was jealous of what they had before and jealous of what they had now. She was jealous and she felt horrible on so many levels.

Would she ever find what they had? Would she ever find somebody to love and for that same somebody to love her back?

These were questions she had asked not a few times before. There was usually a calm reassuring voice telling her that there was someone. At one time that voice even told her that somebody was Ron. Was she ever wrong about that. But at times that voice with brutal honesty told her 'of course not'. Like today.

Hermione believed in true everlasting love; she had to growing up and seeing what that looked like with her parents. But unconditional and forever were tough acts to keep up and experience and realism had long ago grounded her that while her vision of true love existed, it was rare, rarely mutual and quite hard to find. She had to face it; the chance of an unattractive, opinionated, uncompromising know-it-all finding true mutual love was slimmest to none.

There was no one out there for her; no one to be herself with, share her innermost thoughts with, laugh with and cry with. There was no one waiting at home for her and for her to wait at home for. There was no one to even want to be home for or to care if she was or wasn't in the first place. She would grow old alone and have no one to share her life with…

Then it came suddenly.

She had no one to hold her if she felt down like she did now and no one to tell her that everything was going to be okay.

This was the rest of her life…an eternity of convincing herself that it was going to be okay…

The ache of loneliness hit her hard, gnawing her insides and clamping on her throat that she couldn't properly breathe. Chastising herself for indulging in the useless self piteous behaviour, Hermione fought a losing battle to keep the brimming tears from falling. It was best to leave before she caused a scene. She shoved the shot glass away from her, left a couple of galleons beside it and put her coat on.

"I have to get going," Hermione managed to croak as she got up from the stool, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Hermione left so quickly Harry didn't have a chance to respond. She Disapparated, barely making it inside her flat before the dam broke and she gave in to it.

She sobbed openly in the dark, not the first time in her life, clutching the centre of her chest with both hands in an effort to make the throbbing pain better and the emptiness to go away.

It's going to be okay. You have friends and you have your work (if you don’t get yourself fired). It's going to be okay.

It would be. A good cry always made her feel better and brought back some much needed common sense.

Knock! Knock!

"Hermione?"

It was Harry. Maybe he'll leave if she didn't answer.

"I know you're in there. Open up."

So much for wishful thinking.

"Now's not a good time, Harry," she sniffed in between words, brushing tears off her cheeks and hoped he would understand.

"Why not?" he tested.

"Because...just go away."

"I could break the door down," he was annoyingly tenacious.

"What's going on out there?!" the wizard renting next door asked angrily.

Harry explained.

"My friend lives here. She's having a bad day and she won't let me in..." she immediately turned the lights on and opened the door, glaring at him as he faced her, motioning him to come in, "Oh, she's changed her mind. Have a good night."

She yanked him by the arm into her flat while he was still waving to her neighbor and shut the door. Did he really just say all that to a stranger?!

"What are you doing?!"

"I was trying not to get arrested for trespassing," he explained matter-of-factly, offering her a hanky, one he had just conjured. "You left in a hurry."

For good reason.

"You shouldn't have come," she took his offering and wiped the wetness off her face, her eyes.

"Why are you crying?"

"What makes you think I'm crying?"

Okay. So maybe the scrounged up face, the breaking voice and the tears on her cheeks were dead giveaways. She broke down again, burying her face in the piece of cloth in her hands, the fact that he asked made her all soft and achy she remembered what she was sobbing about.

"My mistake," he said softly as he walked to where she stood, put an arm around her shoulder and gently pulled her closer to him.

At that point she was past feeling embarrassed. She clung on to his sweater, buried her face in his chest and bawled. Pathetic as they were her emotions were egged on by Harry's warm, gentle and soothing embrace. Having him there holding her in his arms, softly breathing on her hair and whispering reassuring words was way better than crying in the dark by herself.

She was feeling okay until her thoughts ran carelessly beyond her control. She could get used to this, depend on it, rely on it, and wish for it.

Why can't someone like you love me?

That thought made her cry again and made Harry attempt to comfort her even more which made things better and worse at the same time. This was getting to be ridiculous!

With difficulty she pulled back from Harry's tear drenched sweater and walked away, sniffling and fighting off the residual sobbing. She made for the washroom, leaving the door ajar and turning the tap on. Splashing cool water on her face, Harry stood silently close by and handed her a clean towel after she shut the water off.

Hermione felt better although now she became acutely aware of Harry's presence, feeling the warmth of his caring emerald eyes on her.

"Stop staring."

"Okay," he obeyed, "I'll make tea."

"I'll be fine," she bravely declared, not wanting to be a bother, "You don't have to stay."

Nobody will ever want to stay so get used to it.

Her heart stung for a couple of beats and she couldn't check her expression in time. Harry tugged her by the hand, led her to the small round table in the kitchen and pulled a chair for her.

"Sit," he ordered, "I'm staying and I'm making tea."

Emotionally drained she gave in, having no real fight left in her at the time. Moments later they were sitting in silence in her faintly lit kitchen, steaming cups in their hands. He wasn't going to say anything until she did. He seemed content just to have tea whereas she couldn't stand the quiet

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For this," she gestured vaguely, waving the damp hanky in the air, "For making you stay."

"And here I am thinking I'm here by choice," he was trying for funny.

"You know what I mean."

"Actually, I don't," he answered earnestly.

"You stayed because I cried."

"I guess that's true."

"You feel pressured to stay and be a comfort."

Out of pity because I have no one else.

He seemed perplexed, "You say that as if it's a bad thing."

"You shouldn’t have seen me like this,” she was embarrassed, “You don't have to stay."

"I believe you said that already and I'm choosing to ignore it a second time," he took a sip of tea, his eyes on hers still worried, waiting for her reply.

This wasn't Harry. The Harry she knew would gladly leave her alone in this awkward moment and/or turf her over to Ginny.

Her forehead creased as she asked, "What's wrong with you?"

"Me? Nothing. I'm not the one who's having an emotional breakdown."

What?! Did he just say…?!

"I am not having an emotional breakdown! This is nothing! This is normal!"

"This is normal?" he calmly replied.

She defended herself, "Shit happens…people cry…"

"True."

"It will pass."

"I'm sure it will."

"I'm not telling you why I was crying."

"If you don't want to I can't force you."

Okay…she was tipsy, depressed and lonely. This out-of-the-norm Harry was saying all the right things and she could not help but steal glances at his mouth as he talked, the same red soft lips (yes, they were surprisingly so) that took hers just last night and kissed her, hungrily, passionately, okay, in pretense but still the memory or more appropriately, the ‘fantasy’, would come in handy in desperate times, like right now. And he gave her flowers…tulips for Merlin's sake, and wondered if she liked them or not.

That made her wonder what would happen if...she dropped the thought, knowing that line of thinking was one that was going nowhere, at least nowhere good. She had been down that path a few times a lifetime ago.

"Are you just going to sit there? All night?" she was almost panicked.

“Maybe.”

“Go home Harry.”

"What if I refuse?" he challenged.

"Kicking you out would be an interesting first."

"Is it about Ron?" he seemed to have already concluded it was. He said frustrated, "I told him to not be so demonstrative..."

"It's not about Ron,” a voice, her own, reflexively responded, “Okay, yes, being around all the gooeyness kind of beat up my ego and started all this but it's not really about Ron and Pollyanna Jill."

That sounded harsher than she meant it to be. Maybe there was more to that than she was willing to acknowledge.

"I'm listening."

"It's too embarrassing, Harry," she blushed, not used to baring her guts to him that she couldn't.

"I won't tell a soul," he promised and when she continued to hesitate he came to an incorrect conclusion, "You don't trust me."

"Don't be ridiculous," she quickly dispelled his theory, "Of course I trust you."

"So, why are you pushing me away?" he asked, momentarily stumping her she couldn't come up with an answer. She wasn’t, at least not consciously. He took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly as he held her perplexed gaze with his warm, worried eyes, “Look, I know I haven’t been much of a friend in the past and I kind of understand why you’re not keen on having me here…”

“Harry…” he was getting this all wrong.

“I just want you to know I’m here. I’m here for you and I really wish you wouldn’t shut me out even if I deserve it,” his voice trailed off, wincing as he said that last part, “I hope this isn’t too little too late.”

“Oh Harry,” she sighed, squeezing his hand back to reassure, her earlier worries all but vanished and replaced with this concern for what he had erroneously concluded, “What am I gonna do with you?”

“What?”

“You’re getting this all wrong, as usual,” she was kind of amused now.

“So educate me, as usual,” he shrugged, flushed somewhat and half grinned.

She reclaimed her hand from his and grabbed his empty cup as she stood and walked to her kitchen counter, “We’re gonna need more tea.”

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24. The Measure of Ifs

A/N. Quicker than usual update. Thank you for the encouraging reviews and the not so encouraging ones :).

More of this Hermione-Harry conversation – this time, Harry’s POV. They talk about ‘love’ and relationships in the theory and as they apply to Ron and Ginny – squirm…squirm.

Consider this fair warning to those who don’t care for the philosophical stuff. You can skip this one. Next chapter will be less gooey and will move the story forward, I promise.

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Chapter 24 – The Measure of Ifs

Harry knew that he was out of his element the moment he decided to follow Hermione home. As he embraced her and let her get 'it' out of her system, he could not help but recall the one and only time he had actually seen Hermione this way, thinking how he could have handled that one so much better than he did. It was during the time they were hunting for the Horcruxes, the toil of the task had taken its toll on them and Ron left them after concluding wrongly that she was siding with him.

She had gone after Ron to persuade him to stay, calling out his name in the damp and cold night, while Harry stayed in the tent, angry at himself for not knowing more about the Horcruxes than they expected. It was strange that his memory of that one night was much more vivid now than that night itself. For the first time he saw the bigger picture, how the instinctive choice of shielding him and herself from Ron jarred Hermione, the shock on her face matching Ron's the instant she cast the protective charm as if she was as surprised of her decision. It killed her when Ron accused her of choosing him because she wasn't taking sides but merely trying to keep the peace.

Even her voice as she called out after Ron then rang more desperate and agonizing now than he remembered. When she came back into their tent drenched from the rain and from her tears, she cried herself to exhaustion. She cried for many nights after that, not openly as the first but in muffled sobs when she thought he was asleep. He did nothing. He heard them and he did nothing. He was young, angry and stressed but what the hell was he thinking letting her be?

They never talked about that night. Come to think of it, they didn’t talk about those days when he and Hermione were out of touch from the rest of the world and on their own.

Harry was just relieved that his instincts had not failed him this time around. They had moved into her cozy living room and got a warm fire going, deciding to sit on the carpeted floor across each other. He leaned on the sofa and she used the cushions for comfort. She had just reassured him that her ‘pushing him away’ was not because he was a bad friend but because she was too embarrassed to admit why she felt so low that night. Her indulgence in self-pity was so shameful, she said, that she really didn’t want any of her friends to see her this way.

Harry understood of course. Public shows of emotion were a no-no for him too but he tossed her back the idea that she was allowed to be human once in a while and that they, her friends, wouldn’t begrudge her that. She laughed; he was glad. With not much convincing he got her to talk about what she was crying about and her early exit from the Burrow. A fresh steaming cup of tea in his hand, he listened to her with disbelief.

“How can you be insecure? I have nothing against Jill but it's quite obvious Ron traded down.”

“Thanks, Harry,” she thought he was just saying it to make her feel better.

“Seriously,” he reiterated.

He was angry that Ron, though indirectly, was making her feel this way. It was difficult to convince his oft times stubborn friend she was wrong.

Hermione was trying to make him see her side too, “He's happy with her; happier than he ever was and could ever be with me.”

“Because she makes him feel like he's the smartest and most important guy in the room,” he stated the glaringly obvious, keeping to himself a suspicion that most of it was purposeful, that Jill wasn’t as simple-minded as she looked.

“Precisely. I could never do that with conviction,” Hermione replied.

“So what? You can't compare yourself to her. You're two different people. And just because Ron needs constant reassurance to feel secure it doesn't mean someone should reassure him,” Harry pointed out, thinking that his best friend should grow up.

"I know what you mean,” she sighed, “But it's not just about that. It's about me being selfish.”

First she was insecure and now she was selfish. Her twisted thinking was making his head spin. He wanted to shake her by the shoulders to make her realize that Ron’s timidity wasn’t her responsibility to fix.

“You're not selfish. You're the most giving person I know. And refusing to stroke someone's ego just to make him happy doesn't qualifiy as selfishness.”

It didn't take her long to disagree, “I care about what I want too much that I can’t compromise to make a relationship work. If I couldn’t do it for Ron after so many conscious tries then I probably wouldn't be able to do with anyone it ever."

The perplexed look and frustration on his face would have said it all. He felt her conclusion was premature and bit back what he was about to say reminding himself that he may not agree with her but he had to be calm about it.

"I'm not making myself clear,” she realized, thought for a moment, then asked, “Can we talk hypothetical?”

“Okay,” he replied, eager for something that would make him understand.

“Say you're in a relationship and you know in your heart you love this person you're with but she's not perfect,” she laid out the scenario for him, “Say she's jealous all the time, even for no reason. You've done everything to reassure her there's nothing to be worried about and you're absolutely sure she won't ever change, not even if you marry her. Would you stay with her if she couldn't change?”

This was easy.

“I would. If I truly loved her, it shouldn't matter.”

“So if I truly loved Ron then it shouldn't have mattered that he was insecure all the time,” she concluded, “I should have accepted him however unreasonable I thought he was.”

He frowned, blindsided by her logic, and subconsciously added, “And if I truly loved Ginny then I'd give in to what she wants.”. He had gone further down to a more unsettling thought. Like Hermione he was 'selfish'. He wouldn’t give in to what Ginny wanted because he cared about himself more.

"You're thinking this applies to you and Ginny, aren't you?"

Hermione read his mind and sensed his distress. He didn't have to answer.

“Great,” she groaned, “Now I've made you as miserable as I am.”

“No, this is actually good,” he didn’t want her to feel bad.

“How can this be good?” she was really concerned.

“Epiphany is always good, in the long run,” he was trying to convince himself too. He aired out what they were both thinking, “So maybe we don't really love them as we thought we did.”

“Hold off on the ‘we’, will you?” she said with caution, "That's not what I was trying to get at. Just because we failed to make things work doesn't mean we don't love them."

“You just lost me.”

“Think about it, Harry. The measure of ifs is flawed.”

"The what?"

"The measure of ifs, you know, quantifying love or lack thereof by what we do or don't do for each other," she tried to explain, "Like if I loved Ron I should have learned to accept him and if he loved me he should have tried to change."

"Sounds perfectly reasonable to me," he said candidly.

"I disagree. I think we're going about it the wrong way."

So they were back to 'we'.

Hermione continued, “Just because I couldn’t accept Ron as he was doesn't mean I didn't love him and I can’t say that because he couldn’t grow up for me he didn't love me. And Ginny can’t say that because you can’t change for her you don’t love her enough just like you can’t know that she doesn't care about you because she broke up with you over it. It may seem logical to look at choices and actions to gauge how much we care about each other but that doesn’t work, at least, not all the time.”

“I’ll give you that,” he got her point, she meant one shouldn't assume, “But still, true love should make you do what you can to stay together.”

“Harry, you’re doing it without even knowing it,” she quickly pointed out, “You’re quantifying love based on how much you’re willing to give up to make the relationship work. Love has very little to do with staying together.”

“How can you think that?” he couldn’t wrap his head around this concept.

She drew a deep breath and gave an example, “Take Dean and Luna’s case.”

“Okay.”

“If Dean refused to move to Australia and insisted on Luna moving to London would that mean he loves her less? Does Luna not love him enough because she’s not insisting to live in London with him instead?” she shot him questions.

“No and no, at least I don’t think so.”

“And they’re not breaking up because they’re working it out and coming to a mutual decision. What I’m trying to say is that while love makes couples decide to be together it takes a willingness to understand and selflessness to give in to stay together."

"But that's part of loving someone," he rebutted, "The more you love someone, the more willing and selfless you'll be.".

"Okay, but what's more and what's less? If neither is willing to compromise like what’s happened with you and Ginny who gets to decide when selfless becomes selfish? And when that's decided, does that mean there's less love compared to before?"

"I don't know," Harry wavered, "Maybe.".

"Loving is the easy part and we keep on putting this enormous burden on it by equating it with how much we’re able to give up for the relationship. And when we don't, we lose sight of how we feel about each other. We taint love with conditions, with ifs, and end up diluting what should be pure and unconditional. We need to set love free; to let it be.”

Her voice hung heavily in the air, filled with passion and conviction. She was flushed, her eyes sparkling as light from the fireplace glowed on her face. He didn’t want to interrupt, not that he could if he tried. After, when she realized he was speechless, she turned beet red and groaned.

“Freakish?”

She was a ‘ranter’ since forever and was getting better with age.

“A bit,” he thought he’d tease her, “Where is the donation can for setting love free and letting it be?”

They laughed, the embarrassment and tension on her face washed away as she called him a prat.

He said to her when that died down, “Can I ask a question?”

“Uh-huh.”

“How do you know you love someone if not for the measure of ifs?" he was curious what she thought.

“I’m not sure,” she confessed, “There's always the test of one's physical need.”

That was weird coming from her and he had to disagree, “Physical attraction is key but sex means differently from one person to the next. That's even worse than the measure of ifs.”

She snorted and rolled her eyes, “You’re such a typical bloke. I meant the more essential physical needs, breathing, eating, sleeping and the inability to do those well without that person you love.”

He chuckled, “I should have known. I keep forgetting in some ways you’re a typical woman.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” her brows were raised and she was waiting for an answer, a lighthearted warning that it better be the right one.

“It’s just like a woman to think about deprivation and suffering as ways to profess true love,” he laughed inwardly when her eyes narrowed as he expected and he quickly moved to redeem himself, “I’m not saying it’s wrong, I’m just saying what is.”

“We don’t deprive ourselves on purpose,” she set him straight, “It just happens when we can't be with the person we love.”

“Sounds like torture if you have to not be with that someone before deciding how much or if you love him at all,” he said, wondering if despite Hermione’s denial this was the test Ginny was putting him through, “As imperfect as it is I think I’ll still go with the measure of ifs.”

“Who says we have to measure anyway?” she asked philosophically, “Maybe we shouldn't have to look for proof or find out how much. Why put a number on something that's supposed to be infinite.”

He was shaking his head even before she finished, “You can't go against human nature. We'd always want validation and a way to quantify something as intangible as that.”

“Then that's the pitfall. It is intangible; it can't be measured with any degree of accuracy. And we shouldn’t doubt what we feel just because we can’t measure it,” she argued, the last bit he was sure was in response to what he had said earlier about Ginny.

It was a stalemate.

“Well, immeasurable or not, that still leaves us with your hypothetical conflict of whether to leave or not to leave my jealous girlfriend, which I did in reality by the way,” he said, hoping she would catch the allusion to Ginny, “If you think that not accepting her and leaving her doesn't necessarily mean that I don't love her then that's not the kind of love I want to feel.”

Did he really just say that? The voice was his and the words were his but it felt like he was hearing someone else talk. He was speaking from the heart, his words unprocessed by the complex filters in his mind. What exactly was his heart saying?

She eyed him cautiously, “Are we still talking hypothetical or are we talking about Ginny?”

“Both,” he thought it best to be totally honest.

“So what is the kind of love you want to feel?” Hermione asked, going for casual but it was a most personal question as any.

Harry had no ready answer, never really had the time or need to think about this before. With Ginny he just felt it, recognized it and just was. It wasn’t what he wanted, he just accepted. He had no wants then. It was the free kind, as Hermione had just spoken so avidly about, until the pressure came. What changed? Did something change? Did he start expecting it to be different? To be more? Did he measure it against an if and made it less pure? With Hermione seemingly in no hurry for an answer, he searched himself and told her what came to mind.

“I want the kind that would never make me leave her, unless she insists that I do. It would be unmindful of distance and wouldn’t care less about absence of reciprocity. It would be free in your sense, that it's unconditional, but also not free because I would have no choice but to do what I can to make her happy even if I spend my dying breath making sure she is.”

Hermione looked surprised. It was her turn to be speechless.

“It's okay, you can laugh. Too girly for a bloke right?”

She didn't but he could tell she was amused, "That doesn't sound like you'll be happy in the end."

"I can hope. I figure if she's happy then I'll be happy," he blurted out wondering to himself just how feasible that would be.

"Your hope for happiness died the moment you included 'dying breath' in it," she responded with certainty.

"Speaking from experience?"

"I don't need experience," she said with a smug expression, "I'm a woman, remember? I can tell potential for suffering from a mile away."

He laughed at her quip then took the slim opening to put her on the spotlight, “Okay your turn. I'm sure you have an ideal about what you'd like this thing to be.”

Hermione made a face, “I'd rather not say.”

He feigned a protest.

“That's not fair. Quid pro quo. You just emasculated me with your question," she laughed at that, "You owe me an answer.”

“Okay, fine,” she caved easily, “I have the same delusional, unrealistic notion about love as you do. Unconditional as you said, something mutual is most preferable; I don’t want to suffer, after all. And while we're dreaming I might as well throw forever in there somewhere."

“Delusional and unrealistic? You should sound more inspired,” he admonished.

She shrugged, “I'm depressed. I have a good excuse.”

He tried to convince her, “It not unrealistic. I've seen it. You've seen it.”

“Flukes of nature. I'm bitter I won't ever find it. I'm jealous of those who have it,” she pouted, just being silly.

“You're such a pessimist,” he accused.

“Realist,” she corrected.

“Same difference.”

He found their banter amusing. It was like being in her head and talking with her without her usual layers of checks and balances to ensure appropriateness. Then she said something that he never imagined she would.

“Sometimes I wish I didn’t know that kind of love existed. It’s so much easier going through life believing there’s nothing more to love than hormones and sex and that it was okay if it didn’t last because it just doesn’t.”

“Okay,” he cautioned, “I think you’re going over the deep end.”

“I'm never gonna find someone who I'll willingly give up my ideals for.”

“You're only twenty-three Hermione. You have time. You'll find someone closer to your ideals you won't have to give them up.”

She wasn’t hearing him, “And even if I find that person chances are he won't stay when he realizes I'm not his ideal.”

He saw that she was on her path of self doubt again, a sight he was certain he wasn’t meant to be audience for. This one was filled with overtones of anxiety and insecurity that it was still hard to believe it was coming from his usually unflappable friend. He debated between continuing to talk sense into her versus letting her go to town and decided he couldn’t stand hearing her this way.

“Hermione, if that person truly loves you then just like you he won't mind. He'll be as giving as you are. He'll take you as-is.”

She heard that one and cracked a joke, “I'll have some of that stuff you're smoking.”

“And if he doesn’t then he doesn’t deserve you,” he said what he truly believed.

“That thought would be such a comfort while I'm growing old alone and dying alone,” she was bordering on melodramatic but he could see she was really worried about remaining single. With some bitterness she took another jab at herself, “I can see it now. I’ll be that spinster aunt, like your Aunt Marge, crashing my friends’ families’ parties lambasting everyone about how poorly they’re raising their children and telling them how it should be done.”

He laughed involuntarily at that graphic. It was hilarious imagining Hermione as his Uncle's older sister and very bad timing to lose control.

“It’s not funny,” she began to object but seemed too relaxed he couldn’t think she was offended.

“Yes it is,” he continued laughing hoping to infect her, “I can actually see you doing that married. But I promise I’ll still invite you over even if my kids complain.”

“Gee, thanks,” she replied dryly, at least she could joke about it. She added thoughtfully, “I never thought falling in love and having a relationship would be this complicated. Did you?”

He concurred, “I never imagined it would be this hard either.”

“My parents make it look so easy. I kind of resent them for setting such a high standard,” she was half joking.

They laughed quietly and got distracted by crackling nearby. Both gazing over to the fireplace and seeing the flames almost extinguished, they watched the dying embers for some time, content with each other’s company. He sat silently and thought about the night, the dinner at the Burrow, how it was a relief to talk with Ginny civilly again. They talked about being friends, about him maybe watching a Harpies match once she got playing time, about them seeing other people. It surprisingly stung when she admitted she was finally ready for that, unsure at first if it was because he felt bad that she was letting go or because it took her a long time, then deciding it was more the former.

To be honest with himself about it he didn’t want Ginny to let go. He wanted her to take him back without condition and seeing the look in her eyes he left with a feeling of hopefulness bordering on arrogance that she eventually would. He was selfish, his happiness was worth more to him than hers, and the epiphany about how his heart really felt about Ginny was troubling.

Harry turned towards Hermione when he felt her eyes on him.

She said, “Harry, I don't mean to be an ungracious host and I really appreciate you coming over and staying but I think I'm either going to doze off right in front of you or say something I'll regret; I probably have already. And the fact that I'm telling you this without hesitation is disturbing enough.”

He grinned, amused by her frank and careless admission, “You’re kicking me out of your flat.”

“Yes I am. I swear I'm fine.”

She wasn’t, that much he knew, but she was better than before he came. Now she needed space.

He banished their empty cups, got on his feet and replied, “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks again.”

He helped her up. She walked with him to the foyer and held the door open for him as he put his coat on. She was tired, he could see that plainly, but underneath the exterior he sensed she was still raw from the emotions she just went through. She needed a good hug and would die first before asking.

“Come here,” he prompted with his arms open.

Hermione let go of the door and accepted his offer. Tonight she felt so small and fragile in his arms, so unlike how she was normally. She was a shade of the positive force that had shone on friends and family for so long as if she was running low on that energy. They embraced snug and tight, their one shadow falling on the front porch in silence. He felt compelled to tell her how he felt, hoping his opinion would make her feel better.

“You know I love Ron like a brother,” his voice was barely audible, “But you’re better off without him. It was a good decision to let go. And you will find someone who will make you happier.”

Harry planted a kiss on her hair, that now familiar flowery scent he associated with her seeped deep within him and stirred an instinctive protectiveness and hopefulness that she would be okay. That was something new. She pulled away nodding, her expression a cross between a smile and a frown before the former won out.

“Get out of here before you make me cry again,” she dismissed him playfully.

He heard the door close behind him as he walked away, feeling both relieved and uneasy about what just happened that night. He knew coming in there was a part of her that he didn’t know about but he didn’t imagine it would be this. Recalling the many times she sheltered him from physical and emotional dangers, he felt it his turn and duty to look after her and protect her, mostly from herself.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione lay in bed, eyes closed, mind wide awake. She couldn’t believe she said half the things she said. Most of them weren’t for public consumption. Harry must really think she was a basket case and would surely never look at her the same way again.

She kept coming back to what he said about Ginny. That was so not what she wanted him to conclude. She didn’t want him to conclude anything. She shouldn’t have gone on with the hypothetical and the philosophical discussion on a topic she wasn’t an expert on. And she should really keep her venomous thoughts about relationships to herself.

First Dean and now Harry. Argh! It was like she had this evil side of her subconsciously causing everyone else to feel miserable so she’d have company.

One more toss and one more turn, she gave in to her need for mental wellness, focused on Harry’s parting reassurance and his warm, comforting embrace, then dozed off into deep sleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Was that too much? Would you agree with Hermione’s theory about the measure of ifs or are you with Harry?

25. Delusions of the Fairy Tale Kind

A/N. I loved the responses to the question last time. They were very interesting to read.

In this chapter Hermione faces the demons that haunt her. It’s mostly internal dialogue about Harry.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 25 – Delusions of the Fairy Tale Kind

9 February 2003

The Boeing 747 touched down at Heathrow that gloomy Sunday afternoon, its tires screeching against the rain soaked landing strip as it braked and rapidly decelerrated. Overhead the pilot redundantly announced what his passengers already knew and welcomed them to London. Hermione felt good to be back.

The suspension had been a blessing in disguise. One week in Perth living all Muggle with her parents was just what she needed. It gave her perspective of who she was, where she was and what she was capable of, renewing in her a sense of purpose, or more accurately, the desire to search for her place in Post War Magical London. Armed with the inspiration, she was eager to report back to work.

Hermione couldn’t wait to get off the plane. It had been a long trip and she no longer had the patience for it. The Muggle style commute was really for her parents for e.ven though they accepted she was a witch, they never became comfortable with the ways of the Magical world.

The ‘normalcy’ was the least she could do for them. She still felt guilty that she altered their memories and gave them new identities to protect them at the height of Voldemort’s power five years ago even though it was the right thing to do. After she reversed the memory charms, her Dad had been very upset (more so than her Mum) when he remembered what she did.

The way her Dad saw it she could have done things differently. For once she could have listened. She could have listened to him when he told her not to go back. She tried to explain that she couldn’t just leave, that Harry needed help and that she and Ron were the only ones who could. They had a big argument and when her Dad threatened to confront Harry about 'not taking her along to his death' she used magic on them. It had been her every intention to persuade them and get their blessing but unfortunately things didn't turn out as she hoped and she had to do what she had to do.

Five years later, with her Mum's continued intervention, things between her and her Dad were better but not totally back to the way they were. Her father continued to harbour a grudge against the world she had chosen to be a part of, the way of life that she had risked all for and the man he saw as the reason why she stayed. Needless to say she didn't go into detail about what happened and how they won the war. It hurt that he blamed Harry but there was no point arguing with him about that. And when she told them she had signed up to join the Auror office, he looked at her with disappointment and shook his head without saying a word. Her Dad thought she was doing it for Harry too.

At that time she was steadfast in her belief that her father was wrong. Harry championed what was right; he represented what was good. That was why she stood by him. Joining the Auror Office was a way to protect what they had fought so hard for and what many died for.. But the more she thought about it the more muddled the picture became for her. Even she, his best friend who knew him better than anyone else, had difficulty separating Harry the person from Harry the icon. It was his pure heart that made him both the man and the symbol of good that he was. Would she have stayed to fight to her death had it been someone else?

She looked out the window and watched the plane slowly make its way towards the arrival terminal. Harry was in there somewhere, waiting for her. She sighed involuntarily. The idleness of her mind during the past few days easily filled up with thoughts about her somewhat changed friend and about how she felt about him now. She missed him way more than she should have considering she had only been gone for a few days.

Come to think of it she wasn't supposed to miss him at all. They spoke everyday she was away. Before she left he made her promise that she would call him.

"If I don't hear from you I'm going to come and see how you are," he said like he meant business.

"This is ridiculous, Harry," she protested, "It's only a seven days. Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Actually, no. I'm off for the week too," his eyes suddenly brightened up as he had an idea, "I can come with you."

That wasn't an option. Seven days with this doting, caring Harry was not a good idea. And she couldn’t imagine that her father would behave himself. There was nothing to gain by making Harry aware that her father was unenthused by their friendship.

"No, I'll call you," she gave in to the lesser of two evils.

"Everyday," he added..

Her brows merged into one and before she could stop herself blurted out, "You do know you're acting worse than an overprotective boyfriend, right?"

Harry laughed then; he must have thought she was kidding and she didn't have the heart to tell him she wasn’t. She knew why he was doing it. She would let him be the 'better' friend he wanted to be but while a part of her was appreciative, a part of her wished he would go back to the way he was.

The truth was the attention he was giving her was very deleterious to her mental health. She wasn't used to him being like this and it resurrected an old buried emotion she thought was thoroughly dead.

The time with her parents in Perth was great but it was the time with herself that was even more important. In Perth she had come to a better understanding of who Harry was to her and why this change in his attitude towards her bothered her so much.

She began where they started. He was her first real friend; the first one who was able to look past the annoying aspects of her that had made her an outcast and accepted her for who she was. And as an eleven year old girl being saved from a fully grown troll she swore allegiance to the boy for the rest of her life, not that she announced it for fear it would freak him out

He was a hero to her long before he was a hero to the wizarding world. Just with that one defining moment she knew in her heart he was the real deal and the knowledge made her stand by him time and time again when others doubted his character and his intentions. Loyalty, gratitude and admiration drew her to him.

And she cared about him as any good friend would. She saw up close what he went through and it was hard not to feel for him when his life had been one tragedy after another. It was hard not to want things to get better for him; for him to be happy.

It was also hard not to notice the glaringly apparent; he was fanciable. Of course she had a crush on him (and a few other boys), she was after all normal in that way. She rationalized then that there was nothing wrong with having a crush on her best friend especially since almost every girl she knew had one on him. For her it had never been so much about his looks. Okay, who was she kidding? In her opinion he was the best looking boy on her list. But really, his unassuming way and his inability to resist trying to save people were the two things about him that she found most appealing. She still did.

However the thought of acting on it while they were at Hogwarts never crossed her mind. She recalled thinking she would rather die than be like the others, all but throwing themselves at him. She remembered thinking she was better than that. And besides, the boy had a murderous Dark wizard to get off his back. He didn't have time for teenage romance.

It turned out that he did. Setting priorities had never been one of Harry's strengths. That was when she got hurt. That was when she first realized she wanted him to be more than what he was to her. It was agonizing when he became interested in someone else, when he kissed that someone else and when he kissed someone else after getting over the previous someone else. Why them? Why not her?

Confused she wasn't sure what to make of it. She did some research and compared what she was feeling with what the books said and then immediately declared, with relief, that she didn't love him. Love was associated with wonderful and euphoric emotions; what she was feeling was nothing like that. She was delusional, jealous and even arrogant, upset that Harry not only fell in love without her knowledge, he didn't fall in love with her.

And she blamed it all on the fairy tales she grew up reading. What was it about them and wanting to be that princess or that damsel in distress who gets swept off her feet and gets to spend the rest of her life happily ever after with her prince or hero? Why didn’t anyone ever write memorable stories about the fact that not everyone would get to play princess or damsels-in-distress, that princes and heroes were scarce and that it was perfectly okay for plain girls like her to not end up with one of them?

It wasn't easy but she got out of the fairy tale delusion that her hero would fall in love with her. Fairy tales were just that. Fairy tales. They didn't happen in real life, especially not to someone like her. Surely if Harry found her remotely attractive just by the amount of time they spent together he would have done something to let her know by then. And he wouldn't have fallen in love with someone else.

The alternative to perpetuating the delusion was horrifying. It was revolting to think of being that ex-friend who went vindictive, possessive and crazy jealous, and she swore at a young age never to be that girl who would chase after an uninterested boy. With that in mind she was able to put the emotional blip behind her and brushed it off as normal for the average teenage girl. It was one of those awkward teen moments Obliviation must have been designed for.

And she was happy for Harry that he had found Ginny, happy for him that he fell in love before he died, which back then was a big deal considering how his mortality was being tested so often. And seeing him happy made her happy. She wanted him to be happy like that for the rest of his life. She hoped she could be that person for him but she knew Ginny loved him and that was enough. She loved him that way.

As she thought that back in Perth it hit her. She loved him that way. She had always loved him that way; with that irrational compulsive do-whatever-she-can-to-help-him-survive-and-be-ultimately-happy kind of way. For years without even thinking it that had been her life, not because he asked it of her but because she wanted it to be, because if anyone deserved to be happy it would be him. While Harry had this 'saving people thing' she had this 'helping Harry be happy thing'. It had been premature to conclude she didn't love Harry just because the books said so.

It wasn't her intention to fall for him. Everyone fell for the hero and she didn't want to be like everyone. But at some point in the time they spent with each other she did. How could she not?

Hermione found it curious but not entirely surprising that all this time she had been content to be his friend and that she could be content to be his friend. That was how he needed her to be and she was good where she was. She had accepted that he would never look at her that way and that he would never need her that way. It was likely the contentment that kept her sane and protected her from the despair of knowing he didn't love her back.

Knowing this now some things were more clear.

First, the Hag and her Dad were somewhat right about her motivation for joining the Auror office. While working at the DPMC she missed helping Harry; she missed being needed by him and she missed being around him. Dysfunctional as it was it was the emptiness, the hollowness in purpose that drove her to make that career decision. She had to fix this but didn't quite know how yet.

Second, her relationship with Ron had been doomed from the start It was difficult not to notice how much less of herself she could willingly give up for Ron when she would give up everything for Harry. Even her usually insensitive ex got it right that she chose Harry over him and would do so if push came to shove.

That was what happened that rainy night they were on the run and looking for Voldemort's Horcruxes, when she shielded herself and Harry from Ron who wasn’t quite himself. The reflexive decision proved that third, she couldn’t leave Harry when he needed her; not for Ron, not for her parents, and probably not for anyone including herself.

When Voldemort died Harry survived and got his girl back. Things were perfect and she was no longer needed so it was quite natural for her to step back. But now things were different. The reason for her discomfort with the current state of their friendship was that she was afraid she would cross the line. She had been feeling lonely since her break up with Ron and he was as unattached as she was now. It didn't help that Ginny was foolishly messing around with a good thing and was now living in Holyhead. Encouraged by Harry's attentiveness, her delusion was making a come back big time and there was an overwhelming temptation to live her fairy tale and to seize the opportunity for her own happily ever after.

Last week at the Bat Cave her guard was down and she slipped. For a brief moment that night there was just Harry pressing his mouth against hers and she kissed him back the way she had imagined she would many times in the past. The rest of the world around them dissolved into nothingness. For a few seconds it was very real to her, that her hero, the man who saved her life many times and whose decency and character she admired, desired her, that he wanted her that way. And the worst part of this particular delusional backslide was that he didn't even have to love her. She would take whatever it was that he could give even if it was less than what she wanted.

Unconditional and forever.

Everyday since her return she could feel herself falling for him even more. She could feel herself losing rational thinking, losing control. She had come a long way from deluding herself it was possible and she couldn't let herself be that stupid again.

Nothing had changed. He still wasn't interested and she still didn't want to be that girl who pined after someone who wasn't. She wasn't an idiot to want to suffer like that.

Miffed at herself for the future she had sentenced herself to, she hung onto hope that she was wrong. Maybe it wouldn't be forever. If only he'd stop his mission to be a better friend and got back with Ginny already this would be so much easier on her.

Closing her eyes, she reminded herself, “He's just a friend and you're not in a fairy tale.”

The plane had finally halted at the terminal and speaking beside her. The chatty Australian couple she sat with during the flight, the Allmans, thanked her for her company and for giving them a Londoner's overview of where to go, what to see and what to do. She wished them a safe and enjoyable stay, grabbed her one carry-on and was the first person off the plane when the door opened.

Always with this knack of spotting him easily in a crowd, Hermione saw Harry the second she stepped into the gate. He smiled and waved; she did the same. A girl could get used to this.

"You really didn't have to do this," she said to him when they were close enough.

He leaned forward and met her with a hug. It was only good manners to do the same. He was warm, comforting and his freshly showered scent invoked fluttering in her chest and stomach. Their mutual embraces of late felt better compared to past ones; at least they did to her. She figured that was part of the delusion.

Note to self...must refrain from unnecessary physical contact.

"Don't you ruin this for me," Harry admonished jokingly, "I've never picked anyone up from the airport before. How was the flight?"

"Uneventful," her voice got caught in her throat as she kind of forgot to breathe and had to disentangle herself from him.

Oh get a life. You've done this a gazillion times without even thinking about it.

She must have frowned.

"Is everything okay?" he asked.

"Yes, other than this fairy tale nightmare."

Did she just say that out loud?

"Fairy tale nightmare?"

Great. The filters were off again.

She shook her head, dismissing his query, "I um...fell asleep on the plane. It's a long story. How are you?"

"I'm okay. And you?" he enquired with that worried look she remembered from that night she made a total fool of herself.

"Much better," she really did.

"Good," he nodded, "How's your Dad?"

"Still unwell. He's having more tests," she replied. Her Dad had been nursing a cough for weeks and she and her Mum had finally coaxed him to see a doctor, "How are things here?

"Not as interesting without rogue law enforcement running around," he jested.

She replied something to the effect that he shouldn't encourage her bad side. While they waited for her checked luggage they chatted about the mundane and the not so mundane; the weather in Perth, her one disasterous excursion on a surf board with her Dad the last day she was there, her Mum telling her they were planning a trip home in a couple of months. In no time they were in the car park, Harry seemingly content with keeping up with this Muggle charade, a welcome break from magic, he said. He helped her into the passenger seat of his new car, a pewter coloured Aston Martin DBS, a gorgeous piece of metal that Hermione thought was an excess. Over the time she was away he had developed an attachment to fast expensive cars, which Hermione rationalized was better than fast brooms.

Hermione squirmed in her seat, finding it mentally uncomfortable like she didn’t belong while Harry disappeared behind the car, magically created trunk space and stowed her bags. Another deep breath in and out later, Harry was beside her and was driving them out of the car park. She’d have to admit that seeing him now she couldn’t imagine him driving a lesser vehicle anymore unless he had to.

Harry was thankfully oblivious to her assessments and discomfort. He updated her about work. John had announced his retirement at end of the year and the politicians were jockeying for position. They talked about that for a while, about Humptail being the likely successor, about how Kingsley had hoped John could stay longer so there would be someone else, about Harry needing more experience before he could be that person. He asked her to look into joining a couple of Ministry committees he thought she should get involved in and told her Gates was unexpectedly reassigned to Southeast Asia.

"Some wizard from the IMP legal department did a random audit and found his transfer papers inadequate," he glanced over to her, "You didn't have anything to do with that, did you?"

She put forth the best offended reaction she could muster, "Harry, Gates was a childish prick. Do you really think I would stoop down to his level?"

Hermione was way too pleased to pull it off. His reply was a chastising look.

"Fine, so I did stoop and called in a favour from my IMP contact," she admitted to the deed.

"You cost me a partner," Harry scolded her light-heartedly.

"You're better off," she recognized that he wasn't really upset.

"He was livid."

"Good," she answered, the fact that Gates was brought enormous satisfaction.

She glanced at his speedometer. He was going twenty over.

Harry continued, "He spoke with Dean and talked him out of transfering to the Aussie Auror office."

"Gates did what?"

Harry missed their turn onto Foxtrot Avenue and didn’t seem perturbed he was heading past the Ministry flats.

"He told Dean to consider the IMP. It was a good suggestion."

It was. With the IMP Dean would be able to move residency more easily whenever Luna did and still maintain seniority. But she would lose a partner.

"What did Dean say?"

"I hooked him up with the IMP recruitment officer," Harry answered. “He’s looking into it.”

It bugged her that Dean was. It bugged her that it bugged her too much.

“Where are we going?” she finally asked and a smirk formed on Harry’s face.

“I thought you’d never notice,” he replied mischievously, “I found you a place.”

“You found me a place,” she repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“A place to live in?”

“It’s not quite ready yet but eventually yes. I just wanted to show it to you right away.”

“Harry…”

“It’s new, in London…” he said with a glint in his eye.

“You didn’t have to do this.”

“I know but just have a look. My realtor brought it up and I thought of you,” he seemed to think that was a perfectly reasonable explanation. “No pressure. If you don’t like it I promise I won't be offended.”

He obviously spent time and effort on it. She didn’t want to hurt his feelings. So, he thought of her...

Note to self...don't give yourself an aneurysm hanging onto his every word.

“Okay, I’ll have a look but no promises.”

Harry abruptly pulled over the curb.

“I do need you blindfolded for a short period of time,” he said then added quickly as she was about to object, “Just humour me.”

“This better be worth it,” she gave in and he jinxed her with a magical blindfold before she could change her mind.

They were moving again, seemingly faster than before. He was going way over the city speed limits. She thought of something else to keep her mind off it.

“Is this place for sale?” she asked.

“Um, it's not on the market yet.”

"How big is it?"

"Bigger than the flat you're in, smaller than the Burrow."

That narrowed it down. He obviously shouldn't quit his day job.

“What’s the neighbourhood like?”

“It’s not in a ghetto.”

“That’s reassuring,” she remarked dryly.

“Enough questions, you'll ruin the surprise.”

They had stopped. He helped her get out of the car and had her hold onto his arm, his hand over her hand like he was leading someone blind. He warned her they were Disapparating Side Along and after confirming her readiness felt the familiar sensation associated with it. Harry lifted the blindfold as soon as they arrived.

She was standing just inside the entrance and was looking at a brightly lit unfurnished open room. There was something hauntingly familiar about it that hit her instantly but she couldn't tell what. Scanning from her left her attention was drawn by the generous bay and bow window that overlooked the street and the polished and glistening hardwood floors that complemented the intricate wooden mouldings lining the edges of the ceilings, walls and floor. There was a fireplace and off on the other end, double swinging doors that led to a kitchen in the back. A staircase that went to the upper levels was right next to it.

As she took the sight in Harry informed her, “It’s got a quaint backyard, three bedrooms on the second level, a balcony coming off the master bedroom and an attic. It’s not immediately livable but it has potential and you can fix it up the way you want it.”

Her imagination had already taken off on her. Without seeing the rest of it she could already picture herself coming through the doors, seeing this, furnished as she had imagined it to be her place. She could not contain her excitement.

“This is amazing Harry!”

“You like it?” he was not sure if she was serious.

“I love it!" she erased his doubts, "Wait, how much is it?”

“You can have it.”

“What?”

“I did intend to put it on the market but I can’t sell it to you. That would be too weird.”

“This is yours?”

It suddenly dawned on her where they were.

“We’re on Grimmauld!” she exclaimed even more excited that they were.

Harry thought she was changing her mind, “I understand why living here would creep you out.”

It would have had she not seen the place. The blindfold was definitely worth it.

Hermione asked her one concern, “Are there residual dark magical forces here leftover from the Blacks?”

“I was assured there wouldn’t be,” he answered tentatively.

“Then I wouldn’t mind living here," she told him sincerely.

"Really?"

"Except I can’t live here for free.”

"Sure you can," he responded.

"I can’t Harry. Come to think of it I probably can’t afford it even if I wanted to buy it."

"Don’t be ridiculous…"

"Give me your phone," she already had it in her hand, "What’s your realtor’s name?"

He was not being practical about this. She had to speak with someone who would be.

"Benjamin. But seriously, I’d rather you have it than me selling it to someone else..."

"Benjamin? Hi. You don't know me. I'm a friend of Harry’s and he's showing me Number 12 Grimmauld Place. What’s his asking price for it? I want fair market value. Thanks," she hung up, gave Harry his phone back, and coaxed him out, "Come on, let’s go."

"No, let’s work something out," he pulled her back by the hand.

Even with the simplest of math she figured it wasn't going to work. She had some money but not the kind of money to buy the place and be able to eat three meals a day. And there was no way she was asking her parents for a loan.

"Listen to me, Harry. I can’t afford this."

"I’ll sell it to you at price of construction."

He must have no concept of limits on money, "I still can’t afford it. The interest on the mortgage alone…"

"Forget interest."

"Harry…"

"I’ll loan you the money, you can pay me when you can, with cost of inflation if you insist but no more than that," Harry proposed.

Was he crazy?

"That doesn’t make business sense."

He shrugged, "So what? It’s my money."

"Which you should take better care of. I don’t need your charity, Harry."

"This is not charity. I know you're good for it and I have more money than I can use in three lifetimes. I want to help my friends without whom I wouldn't be around to enjoy all this anyway," he reasoned.

"But you just helped Seamus out and I know Ron's place up north is technically ninety per cent yours," Hermione pointed out.

"It's not totally without advantages. I think of them as investments. This way if my luck runs out I won't ever be homeless," he was really almost begging her to take it. This picture wasn't right, "Why do you find it so hard to accept anything from me?"

"This is too much, Harry," it was a very tempting offer, “I’d feel like I was taking advantage of you.”

"That’s a load of rubbish and you know it,” he was very serious, “It's only money."

She was waffling and had to verbally scold herself, "I can't believe I'm even considering this."

"I'll ask someone to draw up the papers tomorrow," Harry knew she was caving in and grinned from ear to ear.

Hermione emphasized, "I am paying you every cent."

"Of course you are."

He showed her the rest of the place and by the end she was in love with it. They were bouncing ideas off each other. He knew of a great place to get affordable furniture and volunteered to help her put her ideas in action.

Before they left she took another look at Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It felt nothing like the gloomy former headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix but there was history here that it would have been a tragedy if it ended up belonging to someone else . She was excited. This was going to be hers. Her very own place. Well, hers and Harry's until she could pay him off.

The next day she was still high from all the excitement she found it hard to concentrate. Even the call from Dean that he was going to spend a couple weeks shadowing a friend of Gates' who worked with the IMP didn't rain on her parade.

"Hermione," John called from his office door and signalled her in.

She figured he was going to assign her a temporary partner, probably the rookie Greengrass. Dean wouldn't be around for much longer anyway so she might as well get used to working with someone else. When she got there she found Harry leaning against John's desk, arms folded across his chest with a pleased expression on his face.

John spoke, "You heard about Dean taking some time off to look at his options."

"Yeah, he called me this morning," she answered, throwing Harry a questioning look, curious what was going on.

"While he's away I'm assigning you to Harry's team. With Gates' departure he needs help," John answered her question.

"Sounds good," she was ecstatic but tried to temper her exuberance. The two weeks without Dean wasn't too daunting now that she wouldn't be reporting to Trussel. She asked Harry, "Who do you have me working with?"

"It's temporary so it's pointless to break in a new partner. You're stuck with me," he smiled, handed her a file and motioned her out the door.

That information had not sunk in even after she followed him to the car park. They were going to work together the two weeks Dean was away. Was that what he really said? Harry was talking; telling her about the case they were assigned to investigate. A private magical artifact enthusiast had been robbed of a significant portion of his collection and they had to track down a person of interest.

Harry got into the driver's seat of a Ministry issue sedan, a non-descript one. He revved the car. This didn't look right. He clued in when she didn't get into the vehicle, rolled the passenger window down and leaned closer.

"What's wrong?"

She never had this problem before.

"I usually drive," she explained, "Actually, I always do."

"I don't mind driving" he answered because many Aurors did, "I prefer to drive."

Harry wouldn't know this about her.

"Harry, you don't understand. I always drive. And trust me. You'll prefer me to drive."

Unlike Dean Harry would have none of her idiosyncrasies. Maybe if she said please.

"Just get in the car."

She sighed and did as he asked. This was going to be interesting.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I realize this Hermione perspective is a bit different but I hope it was believable. And I couldn’t resist making Number 12 Grimmauld ‘theirs’ :)

Next chapter should contain Harry's epiphany.

26. Their Bed, Their Room, Their Place

A/N. As usual Harry gave me trouble. The chapter is rather long and in some spots may seem pointless…which begs the question why I left the pointless stuff in. I know this would be better with a good Beta.

Pressed for time I dispensed with research. Street names are purely fictional.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 26 – Their Bed, Their Room, Their Place

They were driving down Churchill and she had not uttered a comprehensible sound since they left the Ministry. Yesterday she was reserved and aloof until Grimmauld and this morning she was withdrawn and fidgety. What the hell happened in Perth? She was trying to sell that her attention was on the file in her hand but he knew it was so thin and unhelpful she couldn't have still been reading it.

Harry had asked her if everything was okay and she said everything was. It obviously wasn't. He thought ruefully that lately it seemed he was always trying to get Hermione to talk about something which brought attention to the fact that despite talking more than average, Hermione rarely talked about herself. How could he have missed that all this time?

This guilt about his inadequacies as a friend had driven him into having the nightmare he had about her last week but his bizarre dream last night stemmed from an entirely different animal. This latest one was more disturbing. In it he was digging through loose dirt with his bare hands, urgency and despair in the air. As his fingers scraped against wood, he recognized the coffin from the Bat Cave and forcibly ripped its cover off. He found a peaceful looking but very dead Hermione. Overwrought with grief, he took her in his arms and began kissing her passionately while feverishly praying for her to respond. Shortly after he felt her stir. She was kissing him back, tentatively at first, then with the same fervour she did that night they were pretending at the Bat Cave. He woke up with the taste of her in his mouth, the feel of her body against his and the memory of her flowery scent filling his senses, embarrassed at the fully aroused state he was in.

It was not the first time he had dreamt about being with a girl but this one was troubling not only because the girl was Hermione but particularly in light of what happened at the airport yesterday and what was happening again today. To put it in perspective he had spent the bulk of his suspension getting Grimmauld into a more viewable state for her and had been eager for her return. He missed her all week but it wasn't until he felt a great weight lift off his chest the second she stepped out of the gate did he realize that he missed her a lot. At that time he couldn't explain it. He had known the woman for more than ten years and he couldn't recall ever missing her this much.

But it was when they embraced that he kind of lost his mind. The smell of her filled him as it had in the coffin at the Bat Cave last week and set off a replay of their unplanned tryst in his mind. He recalled how a part of it got away from him and he, for more than a brief moment, kissed her for real. He wasn't exactly sure when but it was after he thought that she possibly wasn't pretending and that if she wasn't, how kissing her and being kissed by her felt good...actually great. And when she slid her tongue next to his all soft and inviting, he felt the floor of his gut fall off and a million pleasurable sensations swirl within him. The feeling was vaguely familiar. This was similar to how it felt when he kissed Ginny for the first time.

Upon deliberate analysis he had brushed off the incident at the Bat Cave as usual male perversion and decidedly hoped that by ignoring it it would die a natural death. He found out yesterday that it hadn't. As he hugged her at the airport he felt a sudden compulsion to relive the memory. He wanted to feel what he felt in the casket with her that night, to get another taste of her sweet, passionate kiss and have her touch him in ways she usually didn't. He had to resist the temptation to initiate something stupid and thankfully she seemed too distracted to notice.

As he expected today was more of the same. His recently acquired hyper-acute sense of smell was catching the hint of her flowery scent filling the air around them and was making him all anxious. Harry took a big breath in, thinking about how to make himself immune to her provocative scent. He wasn't even sure if it was her perfume, soap, lotion, shampoo or some other woman thing unknown to him that he was ultra sensitive to. If she were some other woman it would have been okay but she was his best friend. It wasn't right to cross that line, not even in thought, especially not for this self serving need to feel good.

As he contemplated stealth means to find out what exactly that fragrance was, he turned onto the ramp and got on the freeway. Almost immediately he heard her sigh and she shifted in her seat uncomfortably.

"Okay, what's the matter?" he finally asked her as he merged smoothly into the flow of traffic.

"Nothing."

Even with his limited experience with women he was certain it was not 'nothing'. The question was which type of 'nothing' was it?

"You seem jittery. Too much coffee?"

"No, I'm fine."

"Do you need to take a um...biological break?" he asked with some awkwardness. He had not had a woman partner before and wasn't sure if that was it, "You can just let me know..."

Her eyes rolled up and with exasperation she replied, "No I don't need to use the ladies' room and yes I'll let you know when I get the urge."

"Did I do something wrong?"

It sure felt like he did. Or maybe that was guilt from having less than pure thoughts about her.

"No. Just drive," there was clear annoyance in her voice and he concluded it was the type of nothing she didn't want to talk about.

He racked his brain for what else she could be miffed about. She was so upbeat when he dropped her off at the Ministry flat last night so what brought this about? Was it because John had her join his team? Was it because she didn't want to be partners with him? This was an auspicious beginning in their partnership and Harry had never known Hermione to be this moody.

They went past an exit and she looked at it before taking a surreptitious glance at the clock on the dash. He couldn't contain his own irritation mostly for being given a hard time about wanting to find out. Harry threw out random guesses to force her into talking to him, the more preposterous the better.

"Did you need to pick up something from a store, drop off dry cleaning, call someone?"

"No, no and no," she didn't even look up.

"You don't want to be partners with me."

"Don't be ridiculous, Harry."

"You left your wand at the Ministry and are too ashamed to admit it."

"I'm ignoring you now."

"It’s that time of the month."

No answer. He thought that was a good one.

"You woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

Still no answer.

"You had another fairy tale nightmare."

That drew a glare and finally a verbal response, "Are you this annoying to all your partners?"

"I can keep guessing here,” he was finding this game fun, “Am I getting warmer?"

She took a breath in, put the file on her lap and told him, "I prefer to drive.”

He couldn't believe this was about that, “You’re giving me the third degree because I didn’t let you drive?!”

“I am not giving you the third degree,” she claimed in defense, “I’m trying to distract myself.”

“By reading useless crap over and over again?”

"Which I wouldn't do if Ministry approved the use of Muggle mobile computers," she blushed from her busted cover and then informed him sharply, “But that's beside the point. If you want to get there by today you should bear left and take the next off ramp."

"Why?"

"You're about to hit traffic and the next two exits are closed."

"Traffic?" he asked, "What traffic?."

Just as he said that he noticed brake lights popping up like fireflies in front of him.

"How did you...?"

"There was a lot of rain last night and that combined with the drainage problems on Halloway, the road repair delays on Maxwell and the closure of Gleason, well, there will be back ups from Kilbourne to Hayden all day," he could see her relieved that she was telling him, "Once we're off I suggest that you head north on Taft. Kensington would have been better except it will be packed today because of the street festoval. And if you keep your speed between 55 and 60 on Taft you'll hit green all the way to Johns."

This was what she didn't want to tell him about? He struggled with what to say.

"I know. I'm a freak. I can't help it,” she confessed with some distress, “When I drive I'm relaxed but I can't shut up when somebody else is at the wheel. Sorry.”

He chuckled at her embarrassment of being a human weather, traffic and construction updated GPS, "You seemed fine yesterday."

"Yesterday wasn't work. But just so you know, from the airport you could have taken Sullivan, then River to Grimmauld and cut the drive time by three minutes.."

So that's why Dean didn't drive. He couldn't help but laugh as he took the off ramp.

"Stop laughing. It isn't funny."

He apologized and tried to put a stopper on his amusement, not that he had much success. She went on to tell the story that Dean didn't last their first day before realizing that insisting on driving was not worth it. Surprisingly she had offered to compromise, that if he didn't mind her telling him which roads to take she'd split driving duties with him.

"That doesn't sound like a compromise. That's getting exactly what you want," he pointed out, trying to give her a hard time.

"If I got what I wanted you wouldn't be driving right now," she declared confidently.

"Is this how you get Dean into doing what you want? Pull quick ones over him and make him think he's doing you a favour?"

"I would never do such a thing!" she vehemently denied but with a smile creeping up on the corners of her mouth. She was willing to play his game, "Okay, tell me. What's a fair offer?"

He grinned, reeling in the fish caught hook, line and sinker, "I'll let you drive half the time if you let me tell you how to get to where we're going."

That made her laugh, "Do I have to actually listen and follow your advice?"

"And force you into doing something you don't want to do? I'm not an idiot. I know I'll only pay for that some other way."

"I'm impressed," she chuckled, "You're wiser than I give you credit for."

"Maybe you should rethink and not undermine my capabilities," he retorted, and something outside must have distracted her because she looked out the window, "Anyway, to answer your question, I will desist from having lofty expections of you heeding my advice if you extend me the same courtesy. Does that sound reasonable?"

She snorted, "That's an even loftier expectation."

"My desisting or yours?"

"Mine of course. You're a hero Harry. You should accept by now that expectations will be high all the time."

He had to chuckle and her attempt to keep a poker face failed.

"I am absolutely crushed that the one person who understands me can't give me a break," he feigned being upset.

"What is it about my being understanding that prompts you to think I deserve less than what everyone else is getting from you?"

"I don't think you deserve less," he explained, "I just know you'll understand if I fall below your expectations. I can be totally myself without fear of rejection."

"You know, being your friend is a thankless job," she was pulling his leg and actually enjoying the honest conversation almost to a point of sounding silly. She was goading him into some sort of a reaction, "I want perks. I demand perks."

"I feel a rant coming," he said under his breath, knowing she was not serious despite there being some truth to it.

"I stand for each and every hero side kick out there wanting to be treated with dignity and respect," she indulged him, "We want to be recognized for what we've done."

"The Ministry tried that, you doggedly refused," he pointed out

She ignored his comment completely, "We want the same treatment every one else is getting, if not better."

He was trying, at least with her. It suddenly hit him what exactly it was about her that he missed the most while she was away. She was one of the few who could be the brutally honest way she was with him without him taking offense. He was certain she was without ulterior motives. Despite her rant Hermione had no unreasonable expectations of him that would break their friendship and it was the same the other way around. In fact he was certain that even if Hermione knew about his dream she wouldn't judge him as harshly as he was judging himself; not that he would tell her about it to prove his theory.

"Enough trying to make me feel bad. I know you too well to know you don't mean it so it's not working."

"This is exactly what I mean," she dramatically threw her arms up in the air, "I am not being taken seriously."

"If you don't agree with my suggestion make me a counter offer."

"This isn't worth the argument. By end of the week you'll be begging me to drive," she replied smugly.

"Is that so?" he was being challenged, “You're misjudging my ability to ignore suggestions.”

“On the contrary. I know about that all too well,” she said. “I’m counting on the fact that you don’t care about little things as much as I do. You’re above and beyond this pettiness. You’re big enough to let a woman drive you around if she wants to.”

“Boy! You must be desperate. I never thought I’d see the day when you’d find a need to butter me up,” he was practically in stitches and she could only laugh with him.

“Okay, fine. Here’s my final offer. We’ll split driving duties,” only Hermione would ever go this far in a conversation like this, “We can suggest routes and discuss options depending on how passionate we feel about how we get to where we’re going but the final decision goes to the person behind the wheel.”

He agreed, knowing they would never get to that. As she knew he really didn't care about being told how to go where as long as he got to drive his share. But the suggestion did make him think how outside of driving that had been the kind of relationship they had anyway. She'd suggest, he'd consider but he got to decide with no real pressure to do what she adviced. He wouldn't feel offended if she didn't follow his advice, not that he gave her a lot and from her casual acceptance of the fact that he did not listen to her all the time it appeared she didn't feel slighted either. But he wondered if he was reading her right. He fought the urge to ask her more about that and had to remember some conversations, like the one they just had, were not appropriate at times like now.

That did set them off to talking more seriously about how they would work as partners. It was best to have the conversation about what to do and how they each preferred to handle different situations now than when they were faced with a life and death matter.

“If I give you an order it's an expectation for you to follow," he brought up the topic because he had to.

"If your order is reasonable I don’t see why that would be a problem," she answered back.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do something unreasonable.”

“Then you shouldn’t ever worry about that.”

Harry understood. She couldn’t make that promise and he would not force it out of her. Early on in his Auror career he was of the opinion that while he was a leader, he wanted his team behind him only if they thought what he was leading them into made sense. That was such a disjoint from traditional MLE protocols where they were all soldiers and that commands from above were followed no matter what. It was the latter that was still taught and encouraged, that he reluctantly applied because that was what his team understood. It took the decision and potential blame out of the foot soldier and took emotions from doing what had to be done, which he thought was both good and bad. Hermione was not a common foot soldier and she wanted the responsibility of whatever decision and action she made. That was what got her in trouble last week.

They arrived at fifteen Johns Avenue in about half an hour. They could have Apparated and been there quicker but cars were necessary mostly because working Auror in London required contact with Muggles. Magical criminals knew to use them as shields and deterrents to making arrests magically.

Pugnasiocrates Jollyweather was an eccentric really old wizard with long gray hair and a well kempt beard. He had been in publishing a long time ago having owned a weekly gentlewizard's only magazine up until he sold his company and retired a decade ago.

Jollyweather was an active art works philantropist. Just a week before he had been featured in an article on the Prophet to mark his generous donation to the establishment of a gallery to host paintings and drawings by struggling magical artists. He was also a known magical artifacts collector and it was the loss of his property that they were investigating.

"So you think your assistant, Kooper Dodgey, had something to do with the robbery?" Hermione was doing the interviewing while he roved the inside of the victim's study..

"I am certain of it," replied the wheezy voiced wizard, "I hired Kooper two months ago and he resigned abruptly yesterday, by phone.."

"Did he say why?"

"He said I was a cheap slavedriver."

"Was he right?" Hermione asked insensitively Harry cast her a warning shot. "I mean, do you think there was reason for him to feel that way."

"That's beside the point," the man dismissed, "All I can say is that he was privy to security information, my collection was stolen and he left town in a hurry. Any moron can conclude he had something to do with the robbery."

As Hermione continued with her questions Harry was drawn by a wall of pictures of the interviewee over the passage of time. It was a display of who’s who; pictures of Jollyweather with Ministers, with movie stars, with famous artists, with sports figures. He recognized a face on one of the images.

"You knew Xenophilius Lovegood," Harry blurted out before realizing that of course he would know the Quibbler's former owner.

"Xenophilius was a good friend. We shared many passions. His loss was a huge loss for the magical community."

In the image Jollyweather and Lovegood were with one other wizard, smiling, happy, and wearing bright colored robes with a familiar emblem.

"You both believed in the existence of the Hallows."

The wizard joined him by the side and waxed wistfully, "Ah yes, the Hallows. It was a foolish quest. We never had evidence that they ever existed. The movement died with Xenophilius although I can see he succeeded in planting some interest in you."

Harry shrugged, careful not to make a big deal of it.

Hermione had moved closer too and asked, pointing to the third figure in the picture, "Who's this with you?""

The old man squinted, "I believe his name is Theodorphus Daniels. Xenophilius met the Canuck on one of his North American expeditions and got him interested in the Hallows. That was the one and only time I saw him."

They finished up with the interview and Jollyweather gave them all the information he had on his assistant. Dodgey proved to be a tough wizard to track down. Hermione brought up her frustration that Dodgey seemed always a step ahead of them, like he knew their next move even before they thought of it.

The following days were relatively quiet at work. Harry found out soon enough that this was a very bad thing. He spent a lot of his free time helping Hermione at Grimmauld and being with her all the time was a constant internal battle between good and evil. In a matter of hours he went from thinking about kissing her on and off to wanting more than that almost everytime he saw her or thought of her. He craved for her physical contact but the few times they inadvertently touched was like torture. They reminded him painfully of what he couldn't have. It was almost obsessive. He desired her more than he desired any other woman in his life and he didn't know what to do..

Hermione had not yet signed above the dotted line to make it officially hers but she had definitely made it her own. By the third day she moved into the guest bedroom while still undecided about how she wanted the main bedroom set up. She thought it too big for her use and was considering leaving it unoccupied. That night they celebrated at Finnigan's. One of Seamus’ staff was charming little floating hearts all over Finnigan's. Valentine’s Day was almost upon them and he wondered.

"So, are you and Mike going out on Friday?"

"Mike? You mean Miles."

"Yes, the communications guy, whatever his name is."

Hermione had drinks with him after work a couple of days ago and had dinner with him last night. She was meeting up with him again tonight. To Harry it meant the guy was serious and Hermione the same. The arrogant little twit was grinning so much in the elevator this morning he had to fight the urge to hex the prick. This whole Hermione dating thing bothered him. It bothered him a lot.

"He asked but I haven't decided yet," she answered, "What about you? Do you have plans with Bimbo Six?"

"I told you Cheryl and I aren't dating."

Cheryl was one of Kingsley’s assistants Hermione happened to see him talking with one time.

"I'm sure there's someone in line worthy to be number seven," she retorted sarcastically.

Despite telling Hermione that Ginny had told him she wanted to see other people his friend was still on him about giving his ex-girlfriend a call and had been since she got back from Perth.

"Actually no."

"No?" she was skeptical.

"I've been less in demand since your interview."

"What interview?"

“Don’t you give me that innocent look,” he wagged a finger in her face, “The Socials section of the Prophet published it a few days ago, the one given by a close friend of mine who chose to remain anonymous.”

She chuckled, “Oh that interview. Since when did you read the Prophet socials?”

“You think it’s funny.”

“No, well okay, yes. I only did it to set Gates’ lies about you straight. I didn’t think it would actually work.”

“You pictured me as this lunatic hung up on my ex,” he exaggerated.

“I did not,” she denied, “I merely pointed out that you were still emotionally devastated by the break-up, which you are.”

“Were," he corrected, making her frown, "And that thing about feeling sorry for the rebound girl?”

“That’s just common sense really. Every person with half a brain knows that nothing good ever comes out of being the rebound girl,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You’re such a witch,” he said endearingly.

“I know,” she smiled sweetly, her eyes sparkled and he wanted to kiss her right then and there.

I am so fucked…

"I think I might join the gang on Friday," he blurted out.

By gang he meant their Hogwarts mates who were in town.

"You mean Neville's roundabout attempt to get Hannah to go out with him?"

"You girls know about that, huh?"

She rolled her eyes, "Of course we do. You really should tell Neville just to go on ahead and ask."

"He's afraid she'd say no," Harry replied, "How does Hannah feel about him?"

"Did he send you to spy for him?"

"If he did you'd be the last person I'd talk to. Neville isn't that twisted. I just thought it would be good to give his confidence a boost but I don't want to get his hopes up unnecessarily."

She gave out an exasperated sigh, "Men these days."

"What?"

"You would fearlessly jump into a fight without strategy sooner than putting yourselves at risk for rejection," she was starting up again.

"I should really start recording all your rants for posterity," he teased.

"What's the matter with old fashioned courting? With declaring yourself and your intentions? With putting yourself out without knowing what your chances are?"

"So what are Neville's chances with Hannah?"

"That depends," she said with eyes narrowed and lips pursed, "How much time is he willing to invest?"

He was laughing inwardly. It was a negotiation of sorts.

"At most a month," he estimated, "Unless he sees something encouraging."

"Tell him to make it two," she countered, "Is he at least thinking flowers?"

"Possibly."

"Hannah likes white roses."

"I'll pass it on."

They had just finished their conversation when Mark or Melvin or whatever his name was arrived at Finnigan's and interrupted. He barely heard Hermione when she said they were going to spend the night in Muggle London, preoccupied by the sight of the git's hand looking very out of place on the small of Hermione's back. He had a vision of breaking the twerp's fingers one at a time.

Harry stayed for a bit then decided he couldn't stand sitting at the bar drinking and thinking about her with someone else. He walked and found himself at Grimmauld, her place now, filled with details about her, details he didn't know about her before, details he now found too overwhelming.

He went up the flight of stairs and went to the one room that wasn't her yet. Deciding to leave the lights off, he pulled the window and French door curtains back to allow moonlight to stream into the room. A row of paint cans caught his attention and without much thought he picked up a brush, dipped it into one of them and began painting.

Hours passed. It was finally done. He cleared the paint, rollers and brushes away and positioned the king size bed Hermione had intended for the room where he felt it should go. Lying down face up he tested the view she would have if she ever decided to use it. It was calming and soothing as he had hoped it would be. He liked it. He liked it too much. It didn't take long for him to imagine her lying next to him, the two of them, falling asleep and waking up to this. Him falling asleep and waking up next to her.

It wasn't so hard to imagine spending days and nights with her here at all. He realized then that this desire he had for her wasn't going to go away easily. It wasn't all physical. His need for her ran deeper than what his body had betrayed him to believe.

He liked the idea of this being their bed, their room, their place. He liked it because he liked being with her, because she allowed him to be himself; she made him feel safe and secure about who he was. He liked himself best when he was with her.

Harry thought of his apprehension about crossing the line with her. He was beginning to question it. They were both single and unattached. She was attractive, smart and, though not known to be funny, made him laugh. He wasn’t that bad either. He was certainly better looking than Maurice. So, why not?

But it was all about him, his wants, his happiness. He was and probably always would be selfish that way. What about her? What about her wants, her happiness? From the top of his head he couldn't think of what would be in it for her over and above what his friendship was giving her now.

She wanted true love; unconditional and forever. He couldn't think that the way he cared about her now, though unconditional and forever, was what she had in mind. She was talking chivalry and knights in shining armour sweeping her off her feet. He wasn't like that, at least not for her. She knew him to be as flawed as the next guy and not the hero everyone else unquestioningly looked up to. And he had always thought that was entirely a good thing.

There was another thing; Harry couldn't offer her something he himself wasn't sure of. He cared about her very much and wanted to be with her but after their talk about what love meant to each other he couldn't honestly say that what he felt for her now was what he thought true love would be. As much as he wished it were he needed time to figure that out.

And if this was indeed less than what he thought true love would be he needed to decide if it was worth risking what they already had. Would it be too cruel to go through with it knowing it wasn't exactly what they wanted? Or should they spare themselves the pain of having to let go when the time came?

Thinking how it was so much simpler if they had nothing to lose, he dozed off on their bed, in their room, in their place and dreamt about her coming in as he slept, tucking him in, wishing him a good night and kissing him, her soft lips brushing once against the top of his head and then ever so lightly on his mouth.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I couldn’t imagine him knowing for sure how he felt in such a short period of time.

How does one know for sure anyway? Does one ‘just know’?

27. A Difficult Read

A/N. Finally satisfied with this one. In it Hermione finds herself struggling to figure Harry out. Hope you have fun reading between the lines.

Happy New Year to all.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 27 - A Difficult Read

It was late Valentine's night. Finnigan's was crowded even more than the usual Friday. Most of the patrons were couples ensconced in the dimmed out main dining area completely separated from rowdier groups like theirs who were being served in the function rooms, friends spending the night together and just having a good time.

Their table was definitely having a good time. Almost all of them had a little too much to drink, except Jessie who had not passed out yet and hence was fine based on her own standards. Actually, now that Hermione thought of it, maybe Ginny's ex-room mate was a bit tipsy for she and Seamus, who had given himself most of the night off, were openly flirting with one another and the night was still young.

In their advanced state of inebriation, Hermione wondered if anyone else was aware that Padma Patil and Terry Boots were playing footsie under the table or noticed the obvious that Justin and the male friend he brought with him were lovers. Ernie's date had left earlier; the Healer had to work a late shift at St. Mungo's and Susan and her date had just moved into the main room with Parvati and her boyfriend for some privacy. Neville and Hannah, for whom they had made a point to be there, were finally loosening up. It was time to make an exit before she completely felt out of place.

"Okay, next question," Justin was facilitating part of the entertainment tonight, "For the girls. Imagine you're in bed making out with some guy you just met with a definite intention of going all the way..."

Seamus interrupted with an all knowing tone, "Girls, you're all gonna have to really stretch your imaginations here."

That drew a mix of laughter and jeers from his friends.

Justin continued, "What is the worst thing that he can say or do that will totally kill it for you; 'a', ask you to blow him, 'b', blow air out of his ass or 'c', blow before you do?"

He paused in between the options to allow reactions of varying degrees of approval and disgust.

"That depends," Jessie was the first to answer, "Is he well endowed?"

"Assume extremely so," Seamus grinned smugly.

"Then it'll have to be 'a' for me," Jessie replied thoughtfully, “I gag easily.”

"That's a fucking tragedy," Seamus answered back, his expression deflated.

Hermione chuckled at their exchange as everyone else did.

"Definitely 'b'," Padma weighed it, shuddering, "Total turn off."

"I concur," Hannah agreed.

She could not help but laugh internally; the things one finds out about one's friends. All eyes shifted on her.

"'C'," she put simply.

"'C'? Why 'c'?" Ernie asked.

In her usual fashion, Hermione dissected the choices one by one.

"'A' is negotiable; just because one asks doesn't necessarily mean one will get…"

"I'm feeling sorry for that guy she’s making out with already," Seamus side barred, drawing chortles once again.

Hermione playfully told him to shut up and carried on, "And if I'm about to get down and dirty with a complete stranger, 'b' will not deter the desperation that got me there..."

"Excellent point," Padma said.

"Am I the only one having trouble imagining Hermione getting down and dirty?" Neville asked Hannah rhetorically, who laughed in response to his shock.

"That leaves me with 'c'," Hermione continued, "And once 'c' happens that will kill it for me regardless of me choosing 'a' or 'b'."

"Because?" Seamus asked.

"Because we all know that most guys are pretty useless after they’ve fired the one good shot they have in them," she replied, causing uproar from the men around the table. The women cheered and sided with her as she elucidated the point further, "I'd be totally pissed off if the cocked gun in my hand goes off without hitting my desired target. Any decent man should know bloody well how women feel about indiscrimate firing."

She was definitely drunk. That added howls and unladylike giggling at their table as comments came from around the table.

"Aren't all guns required by law to come with safeties?"

"A feature usually disabled while in action."

"I swear that one guy I dated a couple of times didn't come with one."

"You mean...?"

"Yes!"

More laughter.

"I think Hermione deserves another stiff drink for saying cocked and bloody in one breath!"

"A toast," Seamus poured them all another round, lifted his glass and toasted, unable to keep a straight face, "To Hermione Granger; gun specialist!"

"Here, here."

There was the sound of glass chinking everywhere. She laughed with them, tipped her shot glass into her mouth and. downed what Seamus called the Gryffindor Stinger. The hot, searing liquid burned through each part of her it touched and she almost choked on it. One of these days she was going to ask Jessie to check Seamus' drinks for toxicity for Hermione was almost sure some of them were downright lethal. After their glasses fell heavily onto the table, she got up and donned her scarf and coat.

"Gotta go folks," she announced amidst protests by the rest.

"Stay for a couple more rounds," Seamus pleaded from across the table, "You haven't even had my Slytherin Annihilator."

"Maybe next time," she knew better than to risk it.

She managed to escape into her own little world. It had been a long day, too long for a day she had a love-hate relationship with. When she got home she heard what she had hoped she wouldn't. Silence never bothered her before but silence at Grimmauld made her lonelier. As much as she loved the place it felt empty particularly tonight.

One of her theories about why she felt this way was because in her memory the house was never this tranquil. There were always voices and noises within it, even when it was uninhabited, in the past. She laughed at herself as she thought the last thought she just had. Just for tonight she actually would have been thankful to hear the shrill scream from the portrait of one of the former owners of the old Black house. It was that bad.

She marched up the flight of stairs and stopped briefly at the entrance of the master bedroom before going in. Since the day she moved in and decided to use the smaller bedroom, she had made it a point to see it when she got home, hoping the feeling of being alone while in it would go away.

The master bedroom was psychologically too big, giving her this restlessness that something was missing. It was that 'having no one in her life' thought festering like an open wound. At least in her small bedroom on her much smaller bed she didn't feel this alone.

Two nights ago the lonely feeling did go away. That night she found Harry in it. He had come in while she was out and did some work, something he had done a few times during the past week. She didn't mind that he did. He knew pretty much what she needed done.

Except this room was different. They had sat in it one time with several possible themes on parchment spread out before them but none of them seemed appropriate. She couldn't decide what to do with it and Harry, the other night, did this on his own.

She pulled all the curtains back and looked at his handiwork. As she suspected she couldn't duplicate the scene from the other night. She climbed into bed anyway, rested her head on the same pillow Harry did and let his choice of colors take her away. He went with varying hues of blue with off white accents. The effect, particularly on that moonlit night, was soothing to the mind and body. It brought a peace within her that she had never experienced before.

Or maybe that was because Harry was sleeping soundly beside her. She couldn't stay long enough to figure that out and left the second the delusions came, the ones of this being their bed, in their room and in their place. She left before she did something she for sure would regret. Tucking him in snugly under a warm blanket before she did, she fought off the ideas she had as her eyes fell on his mouth.

His mouth, she thought. It felt like hours before sleep overtook her that night when all she could think about was his mouth wasting away in the room next door doing nothing. The need for him physically had grown exponentially since her acceptance of what he meant to her. It was now at a point that working with him everyday and seeing him almost every night was close to unbearable. Never did it cross her mind that something so uncontrollably primal could exist and if not for the constant reminder of what she was to him, she would have given in to it already..

She had no choice; she couldn't refuse to work with him nor could she turn down his offer to help with Grimmauld. She consoled herself that Dean would be back soon and that there wasn't a lot more to do at Grimmauld. Surely she could hang on for another week or so.

That was probably wishful thinking. She kind of slipped the morning after Harry slept in 'their' bed. Sleep deprived from the night before, she woke up to the heavenly aroma of strong coffee mingling with the scent of sweet cinnamon bread. For a moment she thought she was ten years old, living at home and waking up to her Mum's cooking.

It didn't take long for her to figure out she wasn't ten anymore and it was somebody else in her kitchen. Shortly after a quick washroom detour she joined the cook fearing that if she dilly dallied he might get ideas about serving breakfast in bed. This was yesterday morning.

"Good morning," he greeted with a smile.

"Good morning," she returned in kind, "Need help?"

Having worked in the house with him since she agreed to buy it they had dispensed with the nuissance of formalities surrounding meals and meal preparation. He liked cooking, at least more than she did, and didn't mind taking charge. It was the only time, he discovered with some amusement, when she had no issues about being told what to do.

"Nope, almost set," he placed a bowl of cut strawberries in the midst of the marble counter where they usually ate, "Sorry I crashed up there without notice. I didn't realize I was that tired."

"No worries," she replied slipping behind him to get to the top cupboards, "You're always welcome here and technically, it is still your house."

Maybe she shouldn't have given him such an open invitation.

"Ben said he'll drop off the latest version of the contract this afternoon," he told her, "He's hopeful fifth time's a charm."

"I did warn him I was thorough."

"I did tell him you weren't kidding."

She was reaching for a couple of clean cups on the top shelf but with Harry somewhat in the way she was an inch too short.

"Let me," he offered.

He reached over but had to lean into her to get to them too.. The unexpected contact and the awareness of him invading her personal space made her involuntarily stop breathing which, from her knowledge of physiology, wouldn't go well with her now wildly beating heart. He flashed her a half grin as he handed her the cups. She wasn't sure if she actually smiled back as she was busy imagining how the day old stubble he had would feel against her skin. She did clear her throat to mask the catch up breath she had to take. Fortunately he seemed focused on something else.

"What time did you get in last night?"

"About two," she replied, pouring him a cup of his usual black and set it at his place on the counter.

"That late," he judged with disapproval, "This thing with Morris seems to be getting serious."

"Miles..." she corrected him for the umpteenth time, "...is a good guy."

Harry interrupted before she could tell him she wasn't seeing Miles anymore, "He's not your knight in shining armour. I"m betting he's a pretender or a trying hard wannabe.."

The latter was probably true but his tone drew her ire. He was never this openly nasty about other people's inadequacies.

"What a mean thing to say."

"I'm not taking it back," he answered back, whisking the now frothy eggs in the bowl in his hand like he was beating them into submission.

"Stop picking on him," she admonished, "What's with you anyway?"

"What?"

"You've been as moody as hell the past few days," Hermione confronted him.

Something had been bugging him on and off lately. One second he seemed perfectly normal then sullen the next. She suspected it was about Ginny and the fast approaching Valentine's day, his first not being with her. If only he opened up about it he would feel much better and would stop picking on her and the man she was dating, um, had dated.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded with an edge, the sound of eggs sizzling in pan reflecting his current disposition, "Are you going out with the knight rental tomorrow?"

"No. I'm joining you and the gang," she retorted sharply, somewhat regretting that decision particularly if he was going to be moping about Ginny all night.

"Good."

Harry put portions of the veggie omelet onto their plates. He wasn't going to admit it. She might as well tell him what to do.

"You should call Ginny. See her. Get this thing out of your system,"

Harry didn't like what she just said either and with exasperation reminded her, "Ginny wants to play the field."

Did she have to spell out the writing on the wall for him? It was painful enough to see it so obviously.

"No. She doesn't. She only thinks she does but she doesn't. Just talk to her," she snapped at him, having had enough of their stupidity already.

"Fine. I'll call her."

That calmed him down, and her too. They eventually got to eat breakfast and talked about the master bedroom, how she loved what he did with it, and how she was thinking about sharing the house for both company and practicality. He apologized for his attack on 'Matt' and expressed his stand against having her future housemate have the bigger room.

"I toiled for hours putting that room together," he was using guilt as a weapon to make her change her mind, "And this is the thanks I get?"

She chuckled at his fake protest.

"You're laughing," he shook his head.

"I told you I loved it, didn't I?" she said with a what-else-do-you-want tone.

"You're giving it away to some outsider."

"I'm renting it out," she corrected.

"Even worse," he couldn't hide the smile in his eyes..

On the outside their conversation seemed trivial but to her it was a rare moment when there was not another thought in her mind except pure bliss. And it wasn't just this one exchange of light hearted banter with Harry that brought it about Every time with him lately was like living in a bubble of possibility, giving her a glimpse of a life of perfect existence where nothing else mattered and where there was nothing else she could ever want. It was living as she hoped living the rest of her life would be, at least the personal part of it, and she couldn't contain the exuberance she felt for seeing it possible. She leaned forward from across the counter.

"Come closer," she coaxed in an appeasing tone in keeping with his teasing her for her lack of appeciation for what he did.

He didn't comply at first, wary about what she was up to, "So you can insult the artist in me right to my face?"

"Shut up, Harry. Just come closer."

He did as she asked, stopping about a foot away from her face then raised his brows as if to ask 'what'?

So maybe she should have qualified her instruction to include exactly how close she wanted him to be.

"I love what you did with the room. It's beautiful," she said quietly, noticing how his gaze wandered to her mouth.

"You said that already," he replied, his warm breath, that of cinnamon, reaching her senses instantaneously and without his eyes on hers, she found it only natural to watch him speak too.

"I appreciate the valuable time and artistic energy you put into it," she was serious and he too lost the smile that was on his face.

"You do, huh? Well, to me actions speak louder than words..."

"Okay," she swallowed the lump in her throat, thinking about kissing him, tasting his mouth, and wondering what he would think that action spoke of.

She leaned in closer but aborted her intentions at the very last second. Instead, she hastily gave him a loud smooch on the top of his head and snapped back into her seat.

Whew!

On her way back Hermione caught a glimpse of Harry's reaction and suspected he sensed what almost happened there. He chose to escape it as she did. Harry was a gentleman, after all. It was to help her save face..

"What the hell was that?" Harry complained jokingly, carrying on his earlier pretense.

"A token of appreciation. Why? Didn't it feel like one?"

Of course it didn't, you fool..

"How old do you think I am? Five? I expected more."

Was he flirting with her? Was Harry flirting with her? She had to test this out.

"What exactly were you expecting?"

He shrugged, "Just more."

Yes, no, maybe. Dammit. You've read this man like a children's book all your life. Now's not the time to lose that skill.

"That's all I am prepared to give right now," she said cautiously, "Perhaps next time you should be clearer about what it is that you expect."

"Perhaps next time I will."

He smiled right after and they let it go. In the end he was back to normal and she dismissed her earlier thought about his flirtation as totally delusional. She did promise him she would reconsider renting out what he now referred to as his 'masterpiece'. In truth she felt a lot more attached to it and was optimistic she wouldn't feel so alone in there anymore. That optimism didn't last very long.

Late last night Ginny called. Ginny called to tell her that Harry called and that she invited him over for dinner. Hermione couldn't hear much after that and the only clear thing she remembered of the entire episode was saying to herself, 'Of all the times to listen to me...". And when Harry let her know this morning that he couldn't make it tonight it stung more than she anticipated. A part of her was looking forward to spending the night with him, even just as friends.

Yes, the masochistic part of you. You never learn your lesson when it comes to him. This is killing you. You should really make up your mind about how close you want to be

Actually she wasn't undecided (though she was probably losing it as she just realized she was arguing with her inner voice). She was procrastinating on committing herself to a decision that would be good for her but one she probably wouldn't be able to stick to. The decision was simple. If she wanted to be happy she had to move on and find someone else to love; someone who would love her back. She had to stop making her happiness contingent on his. She had to stop caring about him this much.

But it was pretty hard to stop caring about someone who was borderline sweet, paid more attention to her than she thought she deserved and was around her almost all the time. How the hell was she supposed to care about him less?

The one answer that made sense was that she should spend less time with him. In a way it was good that they weren't working again until Monday and that she had some after work volunteering next week. And if need be there was always going out with Miles again. Merlin, did she really just think that? She scolded herself for the shameful thought that surfaced out of desperation. Here she was, close to compromising her sense of fairness because she didn't think she could tell Harry to leave her alone?

This was ridiculous. Saying 'no' was easy for her; Ron certainly believed so while they were still together. All she needed was to see herself do it. She practiced mentally.

"Sorry Harry. I can't."

Drop the apology. It's not necessary.

"Harry, I'm busy tonight."

Good.

"Go bug someone else, Harry."

A bit of sting in it wouldn't hurt.

"I'm in love with you and I'd really appreciate it if you left me alone."

Better use less honesty. She groaned inwardly. She needed more practice, a lot more.

Her phone rang; it was a call from his. She could only think it was them calling to tell her they had made up and that they owed her. That image of them together again cut through her like it never did before. She let it ring, each passing one making the bed, the room and the place larger and larger, dwarfing her. When it finally stopped she closed her eyes and begged to be swallowed into nothingness.

Then an almost imperceptible noise in the house broke her self piteous attack. There were determined footsteps making their way up from the main floor. She was on her feet in a flash, wand pointed at the entrance.

"Geez," she put her weapon away when she saw who it was, scolding him, "Don't sneak up on me like that."

Harry didn’t seem concerned that she almost hexed him when he replied, "I did try your phone but there was no answer."

"What are you doing here?"

He looked very dapper in the dark blue slacks, the light blue shirt and the sports jacket he had on. He was walking forwards, her heart fluttering wildly as she searched for the answer to her question within his calm expression.

"I dropped by Finnigan's and the gang said you left. I thought I'd try here."

That didn't answer the question she needed answering.

"I mean what are you doing here?" she repeated, "You're supposed to be in Holyhead."

"I was in Holyhead."

"You're supposed to be having dinner with Ginny."

"It's eleven," he chuckled and logically pointed out, "We had to stop eating at some point."

"Don't you get smart with me," she shot him the look, "Why aren't you still there?"

"Because I had to go home."

He had this smirk on his face throughout as if his words had meaning other than what was apparent. Harry saved her asking another question and put her out of her misery.

"We came to the same conclusion that we're good where we are right now. And no, I'm not gonna say 'I told you so' but I do kind of hope you'll back off on this mission of yours to get me and Ginny back together."

She lost all capacity for thought for a few seconds and he assumed her non-response was an answer.

"I guess that was too much to hope for," he heaved a huge sigh, "Here. This is for you"

Hermione just noticed that he had been holding something yellow in his hand all this time. A bunch of...

"Dandelions?"

Hermione took them in her hand perplexed as he explained what they were for, "I'm sorry for bailing on you tonight."

It wasn't like he stood her up but she resisted the urge to tell him there was no need to apologize. Instead she gave him a 'hard time' for his awful timing in seeing Ginny and for causing her pain and anguish, not that she would ever tell him.

"This is your idea of an apology? You're giving me weeds?" she expressed in her most ungrateful tone.

He grinned at her, amusement dancing behind his green eyes, "You did say when it came to flowers you were easy."

She recalled the conversation he was referring to and snorted, "I have to start watching what I say around you."

"That you do,” there he was again with the double meanings, “I brought some pumpkin pie from Finnigan's, left it on the kitchen counter. Are you up to having pie and tea and making an old friend feel less guilty about abandoning you tonight?"

Weeds, pie, and the rest of the night with the man she loved. It seemed like a good deal.

Long live the delusion…

"I need a quick shower to regain some sobriety," she said to her 'old friend' earnestly.

"Okay, but one quick question before you attain full intellectual capacity," he looked seriously curious, "What's this thing about you being a gun specialist?"

Seamus blabbed, the bastard. She couldn't repeat the scene to Harry. It would be too embarrassing.

Hermione smiled back and gave him a dose of his own medicine, "Sorry, Harry. You had to be there."

She left him for a few minutes and returned just when tea became ready. They talked easily until the wee hours of the morning. She told him about Miles (every sordid detail included but only because he insisted) and he told her about his dinner with Ginny. Harry found out that Ginny was seeing someone on a sort of regular basis, a former Prophet co-worker, the same guy Hermione bumped into at Finnigan's last week who she owed for her 'anonymous friend interview'. Lance Elliot had always had a thing for Ginny and Ginny, against her sound advice, had decided to give him a shot. From what she knew of the guy he wasn't bad, but he wasn't Harry either, and Ginny wasn't over Harry. That was a fact even if her best friend wouldn't admit it. And Ginny would have never mentioned Lance unless Harry asked. It bothered her that the answer he got didn't bother him.

After Harry left Grimmauld she thought back about how it had been, yet again, a challenge to read him all night. Maybe the loss had yet to hit him. Maybe he was just putting up a brave front. Or maybe he was over Ginny. She wanted to clarify the maybes but was too afraid to have the more intimate conversation. With the on board alcohol she couldn't trust herself completely. She was already reading too much into his coming to find her to bring her weeds and pumpkin pie.

Note to self...must confirm when judgment less impaired…

But Hermione didn't get the opportunity to validate and gather more information the rest of the weekend. Harry was a no-show. He didn’t even call; not a message, not a note, and his unexplained absence made her anxious. What if something bad happened? Harry was single, unattached, with no official next of kin, and wasn’t due to work until Monday. He could be hurt and in need of medical attention. What if he died because help wasn’t there on time?

Unable to resist she called Saturday night to ask him if he was okay and he replied that he was but couldn't talk long because he had to make dinner. She concluded he had company, Bimbo Number Seven by her count (which he claimed she was too arbitrary and liberal at). And he was making dinner probably at his place. The thought of him being with another woman was enough to keep her from calling him Sunday.

The spare time brought recognition to the difference in how she viewed him with Ginny versus him with anyone else. With Ginny it hurt because she was jealous; with the rest she was as angry as she was hurt. She could only think that this was because it was better the devil she knew than the one she didn't. She probably wouldn't be able to stand it if he fell in love with someone other than Ginny.

Come Monday morning she fully hated the situation she was in and was upset at herself for acting like a crush crazed teenager. Emotionally she felt like a yoyo being thrown into loop after loop after loop. Through small talk she found out that he went camping with Teddy on the weekend, just the two of them, godfather and godson, no women; well, that was most of the weekend.

"Hey Harry, you okay?" the rookie Greengrass asked as they passed him in the hallway on their way to the lifts.

"Just fine, Barry," Harry replied, casting the other wizard some sort of a signal which she picked up to mean shut up but he didn't.

"That was a nasty Bludger you caught in the head yesterday. The Healer at St. Mungo's didn't think you'd be well enough to come in to work."

He must have felt her glower at him for he turned to her to reassure her, "It barely touched me."

She didn't believe him but that wasn't the point.

"You got hurt playing pick-up Quidditch and you didn't think of letting me know?!"

"I couldn't call you. I passed out...for a few minutes," he downplayed it in the end.

"Loss of consciousness becomes a lame excuse once you've regained it," she hissed her reply.

"A few minutes? No, Harry. You were out cold at least two hours," Barry corrected, "Jonesy felt so bad. Didn't think he hit it too hard and we all saw you looking at it we thought for sure you saw it coming."

"I was er…tracking the Snitch," Harry explained, "I guess the HWs won that one. We'll get them next time."

She rolled her eyes as the rookie and one other Quidditch obsessed Auror in audience whooped up what she guessed was a war chant.

As they got to the lifts she gave him her usual speech about the dangers of the sport.

"I don't know why you all insist on using real Bludgers. That's what paint ones were invented for."

"Paint Bludgers aren't the same," he dismissed. "They don't give you enough incentive to duck."

"You could all get hurt badly."

"That's why we have to duck."

She gave up. It was like talking to a brick wall that smiled pleasantly back at her.

"But seriously, are you okay?"

"Seriously, I am."

They were following weak leads on the Jollyweather robbery and were on their way to a Muggle Library, one Kooper Dodgey frequently borrowed books from. He let her drive. He was less chatty today and seemed content to keep his thoughts to himself. As she turned into the Library car park he asked her what she was doing tonight.

"I'm career counselling at the OFE."

The Organization of Free Elves was a relatively new non profit organization whose mandate was to help newly freed Elves integrate into the magical community.

"And tomorrow night?"

"Emergency Girl's night out," she answered, just getting the message an hour ago. As she saw his frustration she was now feeling guilty about her lack of availability, an almost complete turnaround for someone who needed excuses to stay away from him not a few minutes ago, "I'm back at the OFE Wednesday night but I'm free Thursday."

Why don’t you just have his name tattooed on your chest or something?

Harry didn't think Thursday was soon enough.

"It's rather urgent."

"Is something the matter?" she was worried.

"No," he quickly answered, "I just need to talk. What time are you off tonight?"

"Nine, maybe nine-thirty."

"I'll pick you up at the OFE."

He wasn't asking. He needed to talk urgently. She couldn't say 'no' to that.

The man survived five years without you. You don't have to be available all the time.

Note to self...really must practice.

Time passed quickly. Before she knew it the work day was over and they had eliminated a handful of dead end leads. More and more the Jollyweather case seemed like it was going to be one of those that would eventually get pushed to the backburner. She didn't like the thought of her one case with Harry to end up unsolved.

After a stop at Grimmauld to freshen up, she went over to the OFE rented offices near Johanssen and Lake and joined the few other volunteers as involved as her in magical being welfare. Just as she warned higher Ministry officials years ago, the advent of increased rights exposed a huge gap in providing beings the tools to fully exercise and enjoy the freedoms they now had. There was a lot of dissillutionment and backlash from the rough integration and as the Ministry was taking too long to react, a few groups like the OFE scrambled to put up workshops like the ones tonight. After seeing just over twenty elves in two hours about career options she knew what they were doing wasn't nearly enough.

Harry saw a sample of the chaos the OFE was attempting to address when he picked her up. They were among the last ones to leave.

"I knew there was a problem but I didn't know it was this bad," he said, exemplifying average wizard awareness on the matter.

"The Ministry is slow to admit just how big an issue it is," she told him, not hiding her disappointment, "I feel bad because I was one of those who made it possible for them to have the choice. I feel responsible, like I contributed to the problem."

He nodded, knowing her well enough to realize that there was nothing he could say to make her feel less accountable.

"What can I do to help?"

"We need more volunteers here but we could use your influence on Kingsley and the Ministry to push through with additional legislation and funding."

Between the two of them it was better that he initiated talking with the Minister for she wasn't sure if she could be calm about what needed to get done and when. By the time strategy was decided upon they were outside the OFE and she didn't see his car.

"Are you hungry?" he asked.

She wasn't.

"They served sandwiches during the break but I can sit with you while you eat."

"I'm not hungry either."

As the reason for their being out that night was upon them Harry seemed more nervous. The sooner he got this off his chest the better.

"I'll meet you at Finnigan's then?" she assumed, hoped, that was where they were going.

"I was hoping we could have this conversation somewhere else."

"Grimmauld?"

He shook his head.

"Where then?"

He frowned, "It's kind of part of the...um..thing."

Not only was he not telling her what and where he wasn't being articulate about it. Something was definitely up.

"Harry, you're freaking me out."

"I'm freaked out myself," he half smiled anxiously.

"I take it we're Disapparating."

“Yes,” he held his hand out, an invitation.

Hermione took a deep breath in and out then searched his eyes for an inkling of what this urgent conversation was about and why they couldn't have it here right now. He wasn't giving anything away nut she did fee like he was telling her to trust him. Fighting off curiosity and worry she decided it best to let him do it his way and in his own time.

Without breaking eye contact, she put her hand into his and felt his firm, steady grip reassure her. She gave him a slight nod to signal her readiness, closed her lids when he did and soon enough she felt the squeezing sensation of Disapparition. Milliseconds later, they were where he wanted them to be.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. So, my Hermione is not always right. Hope that's okay. Any guesses where Harry has taken her?

I'll try not to mess up the next chapter :lol:

28. A Perfect Instance In Time

A/N. All good guesses about where Harry took her. I went for the not so obvious. I hope I did this justice.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 28 - A Perfect Instance In Time

Hermione knew where they were even before she opened her eyes. The smell of the crisp, cool air, the distant sound of familiar wildlife going about their own business and the crunchy feel of dried leaves beneath her feet were enough to bring back the vivid image of lush evergreens with snow covered peaks in her mind. She remembered the place with such clarity because they spent days living in different parts of it. Harry had taken her back to the Forest of Dean. The question was 'why'?

He let go of her hand as she took in the scene. Where they were currently was not familiar. It wasn't one of the places where they had camped out while they were hiding from Voldemort and hunting for the Horcruxes. They were in a clearing near the bank of a small still pond, natural night light from the new moon filtering through the gap in the forest roof and reflecting off the body of water before them. In the shadows beyond, thick trees lined and traced their perimeter several rows deep and seamlessly blended in with the rest of the forest. The sight took her breath away.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" Harry read her mind. He was standing a few feet to her right, admiring the same view she was and watching her reaction. "The first time I was here I didn't appreciate it at all. Goes to show how inaccurate first impressions can be."

Hermione looked on as he conjured a bonfire in between them and the edge of the pond. The fire instantly served its purpose; the mists that were forming from their mouths as they breathed in and out moments ago disappeared and Harry had even shed his jacket as the flame's close proximity had warmed them up. Taking his cue that they were staying she did the same, finding a nearby bush to leave her coat on.

She was about to ask him where they were exactly when the fire flickered and she caught a glimpse of the flattish surface of a rock beside an aged sycamore tree. The stone was interrupted by a jagged blackened imperfection caused by something unnatural. She had her answer.

"This is the pond you almost drowned in," she declared with certainty, moving closer to the edge and studying its clear waters as she was seeing it for the first time.

"Where Ron pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor from and saved my life. Yes."

"And that's where you destroyed the Horcrux in the locket," she motioned over to the rock next to the old sycamore tree.

"Ron did," he corrected.

"I remember," that was what she meant.

Hermione recalled there was snow on the ground that evening and they had just narrowly escaped Voldemort at Godric's Hallow. The pond had been frozen that December night Harry had to jump into it. It was only normal for Harry not to notice how beautiful it was here then.

It had been five years since it happened and they hadn't spoken of it in detail. After living a year of its reality and seeing the havoc Voldemort caused everyday none of them brought those days much up during conversations, preferring to go on with life. Why here and why now? A few reasons, all appalling, popped up in her head. Was this about Voldemort again?

"Why are we here?"

Harry was now standing beside her, the warm light shining off the burdened expression on his face as he gathered himself for what he wanted to say. Her heart was beating hard against her chest as her anxiety grew.

"I need you help sorting something out," Harry said puzzling her even more. "About us."

The thumping screeched to a sudden halt then built up momentum again. Harry hesitated, seemingly unsure of what to say next.

"About us?" she asked, thinking she might not have heard him right, "Do we have a problem?"

She didn't think so but now she wasn't so sure. Harry had been acting strangely all week.

"We could have one depending on how you take what I'm about to tell you," he said ruefully, peering into her eyes with worried ones.

It was then when she realized what it was that was different in how he had been looking at her. His attentiveness to what she said and did, compared to the casual that she was accustomed to, had grown and deepened over the last few weeks. It felt like he was trying to figure her out, something she didn't notice he did before.

He ran his fingers roughly through his black hair, a sure sign of nervousness. This was all coming from way out left field and she was done guessing. Her gut told her to be patient and let Harry do his thing.

"Maybe you should sit," he suggested, motioning to the thick trunk of a fallen tree close by.

"No thanks."

"Are you su...?"

"Harry," she interrupted and was so tempted to rush him but stopped herself in time.

After significant internal deliberation he finally said to her, "Did Ron ever tell you more about that night we destroyed the locket?"

She shook her head, curiosity piqued even more.

Harry continued, "The Horcrux sensed that it was going to die and tried to turn Ron against me."

"How?"

"Ron had been jealous of what we had. You know, how we seemed to figure stuff out together, finish off the other's thoughts," she nodded, knowing what he meant. "He thought that...um…by staying with me when I had that argument with him you cared more about me than you cared about him."

"Yes, I remember," she answered; how could she forget?

"The Horcrux projected copies, images of you and me, mostly saying nasty things to hurt Ron," he shared, "It was feeding off Ron's jealousy, his thoughts, his insecurities, about how his Mum wanted a daughter, how he was second best to me, how you preferred me."

She had wondered if any of the other Horcruxes did something similar to what the other piece of Voldemort’s black soul in Helga Hufflepuff's cup did just as she was about to impale it with the Basilisk's fang. Ron, probably too embarrassed about it, never mentioned that he had seen the scene play out before. No wonder he didn't lose it when images of her and Harry came out from the mouth of the cup and began mocking him.

She felt a need to speak up for Ron, "It was always difficult for him. He kept measuring himself against you."

Hermione suspected Ron still did on occasion. Harry nodded, understanding that it was something Ron knew was foolish too.

"After he stabbed the Horcrux, I stood there..." Harry pointed to a spot a few feet away, "...and I told him there was nothing going on between us, that you're like a sister to me."

She didn't respond, unable to find her voice right away. That hurt. 'Sister', she felt, was a demotion from best friend. Sister meant relative and more an obligation to be with rather than be with by choice. It also meant the absolute absence of normal attraction. Although she was certain Harry meant it in the most positive way she could not do anything about the pain that cut through her. Had they had this conversation weeks ago she would haven't been as sensitive but now...

A sudden horrific thought about why he needed to talk urgently crossed her mind. Did he know how she felt about him? Was he about to tell her he wasn't okay with it? Was this why he was having so much difficulty?

"You we're being honest," she managed to say, though when she did she couldn't look at him straight in the eye, fearful of seeing rejection in them, or worse, pity.

Unfortunately he wasn't quite finished and he added, "I also said I was sure you felt the same way about me, that I'm like a brother to you."

Those words used up the little patience she had left, not sure if it was with her for her continuing idiocy about Harry or with him for not just telling her that she was freaking him out. She lost it.

"What's the point in all this? You said you needed help but it seems like you've got us all sorted out!"

"Why are you upset?" he asked surprised, perplexed and concerned all at the same time, not expecting such a biting reaction.

"I'm not!"

"You're crying."

She didn't notice before but indeed, she was.

"I'm just tired!"

"Did I say something wrong?" he pressed on, his confusion evident.

"It's been a long day," she quickly brushed the warm wetness off her cheeks and turned her back on him, the throbbing ache clouding her thoughts and impairing her ability to converse logically, "I don't know why you brought me here to tell me that we're like brother and sister when you could have done that at Grimmauld, at Finnigan's or even anytime at the Ministry today."

It was a stupid thing to say but it was too late to take it back. Tried as she might she couldn't prevent the deluge from coming. She was sobbing, her thoughts muddled and confused as she attempted to get away from Harry who was trying to get her focussed attention. He was saying something but she couldn't hear him and she couldn't look at him to try and listen. At that point, she didn't even care about what he thought was happening or if he figured out why she was acting the way she was. All she wanted to do was leave and get away from him as far away as she possibly could.

Thinking that she would probably Splinch him or herself or them both if she tried to Disapparate, she turned to him, eyes still burning hot from the tears that wouldn't let up, and pleaded.

"Let me go... Please let me go."

"No!"

He doesn't mean to be mean, her inner voice defended him.

She remembered that her coat and her purse were somewhere, so she walked back near the fire, saying, mostly to herself, "I can't...I can't stay..."

"Hold on a sec, dammit, just hear me out!"

Harry headed her off and grabbed both her hands in his, holding them up near his face to make her look at him. She couldn't get away from him and he wasn't going to let her go until he said whatever it was he wanted to say.

"Hermione, look at me!" he grasped her hands tighter, tugging at them desperately.

"What?!" she snapped at him, clenching her jaw to toughen herself up so she could look him in the eye without tearing up.

"It's changed!" he explained, his tone urgent and pleading for her to believe him, "I meant what I said back then but how I feel about you has changed. I don't know when or how or even what exactly this is but all I can say for sure is that it's different. These past few days I've been trying to deny it and ignore it but it's there and I'm certain there's nothing sisterly about it…"

"Wha...what are you saying?"

"I've been thinking about us lately, about who I am to you and who you are to me. I've been thinking about us a lot and in ways I've never thought about us before. I can't keep this to myself much longer. You did say we men should be more upfront with our intentions so, I'm risking rejection and hoping you won't laugh in my face when I tell you what I'm about to tell you."

"Harry, you're rambling..."

Or maybe that was her, her thoughts racing side by side with his, trying to keep up. She matched his intense stare hoping she'd find understanding there when his words seemed not enough.

"This...," he said, placing the palm of her right hand against his chest, holding it steady there, making her feel the rapid bounding cadence underneath his sweater, "...is what my heart does whenever you touch me, whenever I see you, whenever I think of you. And I've been thinking about you so much I can't work, I can't sleep, I can't even play Quidditch properly. I've been debating whether or not to let you know. I don't want to scare you off but I'm useless like this. I also thought you'd probably figure it out at some point and just get freaked out. I can't afford that to happen. I need your help sorting this out."

The strain on his face was replaced by one of anticipation, of hope about her response. At some point during all that she had stopped crying and had regained some of her mental competency. Okay...there was a perfectly logical explanation for this...

"Just how hard did that Bludger hit your head yesterday?" she queried, eyeing him with suspicion.

"It wasn't the Bludger. I'm fine. At least physically I am," Harry dismissed her supposition quickly, again with that look like he was trying to figure out if she meant something else.

"Then you should see a shrink," she concluded, "You've obviously gone mental and are having a nervous breakdown."

He laughed at that.

"I am not kidding, Potter!" her voice broke as she expressed her frustration at his not taking this too seriously, "This break-up you and Ginny are going through..."

"You're not getting off that easily. This isn't about Ginny."

"You don't know that!"

"Actually, I do. I went to see her, to be sure this has nothing to do with her," he revealed and emphatically added, "I know this has nothing to do with her."

"Are you toying with me? Did Dean put you up to this?" he shook his head; "It was Seamus, wasn't it? I'm gonna hex him. I'm gonna hex him right after I deal with you!"

Harry, much to her irritation, was still finding this all entertaining, "Why is it so hard to believe that I fancy you?"

"Because I've been around you forever and you never have," that was easy.

"We don't always see things clearly the first time around."

"Why now?"

He shrugged, "I don't know. Does it matter?"

Her eyes wandered to where he continued to hold her hand against his chest.

"Can you let go of me so I can go home?"

Hermione was still processing how fast his heart was beating against the palm of her hand but she couldn't think properly with him being so close and acting this way. She couldn't go on facing him like this, touching him and being touched by him, having physical contact with him that now meant something. This was going to be a problem.

He did as she asked.

"So that's it? You won't even give me a chance?" he asked calmly, too calmly she sensed he was up to something.

"A chance to do what?"

"To go out with you."

"I go out with you all the time," she pointed out, that was definitely going to change.

"Stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about. I mean go out," he was chuckling, "Like on a date."

"Why?!"

"I hate to be unoriginal but basically for same general reasons men ask women out."

"Cut it out, Harry, I mean it!"

"I mean it too," he replied, "I just want a chance. I want a fair shot just like Miles had."

"You finally got his name right; imagine that."

She needed a moment to think. Was this really happening?

"What does he have that I don't? Miles got to three dates. Did you let him kiss you? No, wait, I don't want to know. But how fair is that? You didn't even know the guy and you went out with him three times. You know me and you won't even consider going out with me once."

"Guilt tripping me is not going to work," she said to him, then added, "And Miles and I never kissed, just so you know."

"Why won't you go out with me?" he asked.

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You don't find me attractive, huh," he was being silly, "Is it the scar?"

"Quit trying to be cute with me," she scolded.

It is so working. Ugh!

"I'll assume that means you do find me attractive," he announced happily, bringing out his boyish charm that annoyingly made her want to throw herself at him, "You know, people actually go out on dates based on that alone."

"People date to get to know each other. We already know each other."

He smiled goofily, "That is debatable."

She rolled her eyes in exasperation as she blushed. It was getting way too hot around him.

"That's not the point."

"What is your point? We're both unattached, have admitted to finding each other attractive, why can't we date each other?"

She had to admit that what he just said made sense. He just confessed to being attracted to her and while in her mind she should be jumping into his arms, she wasn't. She didn't know exactly why that was but suspected it had something to do with the fact that truth or not, this was not something she ever thought she'd ever have to deal with. It was throwing her off.

After all these years he finally noticed her; big deal. This physical reaction of his she could easily attribute to the fact that he just ended a long relationship and they were spending so much time together. Did he expect that she would be ecstatic to hear how his sisterly feelings for her had changed to one of...lust? This was even worse than being his 'sister'.

It was not the time to be all negative but she couldn't help it. Coming back here brought back memories of how different they were from each other and how they disagreed on many things. Loving him from afar was one thing but being with him? She hadn't thought about it before but were they even compatible?

Stupid...stupid...stupid... Isn't this what you wanted? You're finally getting a chance to be with the man you love! What is wrong with you?!

He doesn't feel the same way about me.

I thought you said you would accept what he had to offer even if it was less than what you wanted?

I haven't hexed him and left him to rot here, have I?

What are you scared about?

That it won't work anyway because it's not the real thing for him. It's risking a lot and for what? To scratch an itch?

"Harry, we're friends. We have too much history."

The man did his research; he had a ready rebuttal.

"But isn't history a good thing? No awkward adjustments, no need to feel each other out. I reckon that should eliminate the need for dates one and two right there."

"I don't want to lose good friends. I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

"Harry..."

He guessed what her next point was.

"Ginny will be fine. She'll understand and she'll be happy for us," then qualified his last statement, "If we do end up together."

Hermione knew Ginny better than he did and she wasn't so sure about that. There was an unwritten rule between best friends that ex's were off limits.

"And I'm certain Ron wouldn't mind either."

That one she didn't quite agree with him either. He was wishful thinking, living in some dream world.

"That's not what I'm most concerned about," she said to him gravely, trying to figure out a way to say what she was about to say without insulting him

"You don't think what I feel is the real deal," he read her mind again.

"It's not what you hope it is," she said it to him straight.

"How can you be so sure it isn't?" he asked, challenging.

"Because I know you. I just know."

"Well I don't. I have to find out for sure and this is the only way I know how. Look, I know I'm also not who you expect to be with but all I want is a chance," he repeated his request.

'Also'...of course she wasn't who he thought he would be with. Hearing the truth in different ways didn't make it sound better. It made her feel like she was an afterthought; come to think of it she was an afterthought. Rebound girl; his rebound girl. How could she have not seen this coming?

The more she considered what he was asking the more she thought about how badly she could get hurt. It was after all a basic instinct to want to survive. He wasn't sure - she was.

"All I want is for us to try it out and to be able to say that we did try even if it doesn't work. I don't want regrets. Life's too short."

She groaned inwardly asking herself why he had to make so much sense.

"If we do this and it doesn't work out the way we hope it will, at least one of us can get really hurt. Are you prepared for that?"

"No," came his honest reply, "But I've thought about it. I care about you and I know you care about me. I would never hurt you deliberately and I know it's the same for you. If we do this and it doesn't work out, we'll just have to remember that."

Harry made it sound easier than she knew it was going to be. Not surprisingly, even though she didn't agree, it was enough reassurance that he believed she would never hurt him intentionally.

They held each other's gaze for a few seconds, hers one of concern and his one of hope, then he said to her, "If we do this and it works out, imagine that."

Harry gave her a broad smile, his excitement and enthusiasm rubbing off on her. It was pretty hard to argue with that. The thought of them being together freed her from her reservations and the risks faded into the background. He was right. Life was too short. Not doing this was really not an option anymore. Like him she couldn't imagine living with this huge 'what if' hanging over their heads.

"What exactly do you want from me, Harry?" her voice was steady despite just realizing the enormity of what they were just about to do.

"For starters, an open mind that this could work and your heart in it one hundred percent."

He had no idea.

"And?"

"The less you know the less chances you'll bail out," he thought for a moment and added carefully, "Why were you upset earlier?"

Figuring he deserved at least one sincere answer, she took the palm of his hand and placed it over her chest, letting him feel the thumping in it that hadn't let up. He recognized its meaning instantly.

She explained, "It was um...a nonverbal protest...to what you said about us being brother and sister."

"I see. When did this happen?"

"I'm not sure," she answered; it was kind of true.

"Do you...do you think it's the real thing?" he asked, very concerned.

Hermione saw his mind like it was hers. He didn't expect her to be attracted to him the same way he was to her. Just the possibility that she loved him for real as they had talked about, unconditionally and forever, scared him. She didn't want Harry pressured into feeling that way about her.

"I don't know," she lied, "You're not who I expect to be with either."

It was better that he believed they were in the same boat. An enormous cloud lifted from within him. As usual she was right.

They looked at each other, his eyes sparkling, his beaming smile absolutely worry-free and easy. Seeing this she latched onto his belief that this could work and felt herself smiling too.

"You know, I just realized something," he said, his arms finding their way around her waist, gently pulling her closer, "We've known each other for more than ten years. Strictly speaking, and you pointed this out earlier, there is not much purpose for dating."

She frowned, "Are you trying to get away from wining and dining me?"

"No, of course not," he denied with a chuckle, knowing she was teasing, "I'm merely hoping to expedite the exploration of certain aspects of dating we're not familiar with yet."

His voice faded as his gaze deepened, unmasking for her his innermost desires.

"I'm a bit slow today," she muttered, "You're going to have to show me what you mean."

"Hermione," he breathed her name.

"Yes?"

"Can I kiss you now?"

"Only if you feel a compelling need to," she answered.

His eyes fell to her mouth and hers fell on his. Harry leaned down and their lids fluttered close as he pressed his mouth lightly against hers, unleashing a frenzy of butterflies within her. He moved his soft lips ever so slightly and kissed her with brushing featherlike strokes, tasting, testing, waiting for a reply. She responded to his enticing invitation, kissing him back in kind, feeling each and every nerve ending on her tingle with approval and excitement.

Harry took another step closer, gently pulled her flush against him and kissed her in an obviously unsisterly manner, caressing each and every part of her mouth with his in a slow sweet dizzying pace. Her arms had made their way up around his neck, her body aching for the feel of his embrace. She parted her lips slightly allowing their breaths to mingle, his a minty scent that she would store into her memory forever.

Each passing second their kiss became deeper, longer, needier. It was evident that they wanted each other more. His hands moved to her back, his strong arms now pulling her hard against him, while her entirety strained to feel him. His tongue followed the outline of her lips, teasing, tempting, driving her insane. She couldn't wait for him any longer. She tilted her head, pulled him down and crushed his lips with hers, her fingers digging into his hair. A muffled groan escaped him as she probed his mouth with her seeking tongue and stroke his passionately in a mind emptying blaze. He matched her fervour, driving his lips hard against hers, feeding fuel to their already fiery desire.

They broke apart at the same time, breathless, hot, still entangled in each other's arms. She had her eyes closed still, thinking about what to say to him when they eventually had to talk and she couldn't come up with anything. She was trembling from the excitement all this was causing within her. When she finally lifted her lids her eyes ran into his green piercing ones, dazed and as full of want as hers.

"Whoa...."

He accurately summed up succinctly. His voice swayed her unsteadily, her desire for him, all of him, overwhelming her like never before.

She saw a smile creep up at the corners of his mouth, "I guess this means you will go out with me."

"We'll discuss terms later."

Thankfully he got the hint. He kissed her again, this time more confidently, more daringly, the joy he felt about things working out permeating through his act. Feeling him happy like this gave her a rush of euphoria too. His happiness was her happiness and the idea, the thought, the fact, that she was directly responsible for it, well, was exhilarating.

So they kissed by the fire on this beautiful night, the trees, the forest creatures, the new moon and the still pond, all witnesses to what she couldn't adequately describe and he couldn't identify. Several times he got too hot, making it necessary for them to take pause. She could feel his resolve to maintain control but unless they stopped kissing or touching it was a lost battle.

It would be cruel to forego what they were doing and it wasn't only him. She wanted him badly. She needed him badly. Reasonable thinking pointed them to wait, to not rush, and that was what Harry in his usual noble way was trying to do. But swept by the passion blazing between them she could only think of how right the moment was. She had known and loved the man for more than half her life; not sleeping with him after tonight, knowing that he desired her too, was unimaginable. And if he figured he didn't love her after all this then they would at least have this perfect instance in time.

Hermione had to make the offer and hope that he wouldn't decline. She broke off their heated kiss. Under his questioning expression she conjured thick warm blankets and laid them out on the mound of dried leaves near their feet. She kicked off her shoes and took his hand in hers, tugging him gently as she stepped onto the makeshift bed.

With worry he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

She nodded and convinced that she was was all he needed to know. He joined her. She lay on her back and welcomed his mouth on hers again, noting his loss of restrain as they both held nothing back. With his body on hers, he left her mouth and began a trail of blistering kisses down one side of her neck then up the other, each one more pressing than the previous as she gave him better access. She could feel him struggling as she was to slow down and prolong the pleasures of the moment, battling against the mad rush to gain more intimacy.

Her hands worked their way down and tugged his sweater loose, slipping them under, finding skin to touch. His were under her top, caressing her too. She let out a moan as he nibbled where her neck joined her shoulder causing a wave of gratifying impulses throughout her.

While the fire burned they burned beside it. He momentarily stopped kissing her and propped himself up. He pulled his sweater off in one motion and patiently watched her as she got out of hers. Covering themselves with warm blankets she shivered at the heavenly feel of his bare chest against her bosom. He soon slipped and disappeared under the covers, kissing her, devouring her flesh, bare inch by bare inch. With a single try he freed up her breasts from their support and languidly partook of them, one at a time. He was setting her ablaze.

She writhed helplessly under his adept ministrations as she let every little sensation he incited take over. Her hands wandered aimlessly, his hair, his back, then back to his hair. And just when she thought there was nothing else he could do to work her up, his trail of kisses inched lower while his fingers unfastened her skirt, discarded it and all that was underneath it.

Completely naked and exposed she felt disadvantaged. She pulled him up towards her before he could continue with his designs and kissed his mouth hard.

"You first," he said to her huskily in between kisses.

"No. Not tonight," she replied, ravaging his mouth equally, rejecting his noble offer.

Unmindful of his protest she unhooked his pants and unzipped it. He groaned a swear as she slipped her hand into his trousers and wrapped it around his fullness, sliding it in and out. Harry retaliated, stroking the nubbin of excitable flesh guarding her entrance gently but purposefully, muffling her own guttural response with a raw kiss. His tongue swooped in as he fingered her like a virtuoso on some string instrument, driving her to the brink.

All of her turned to mush and her mind fogged over. Somewhere out there she heard the faint sound of crackling firewood. The pale moonlight glistened off their partially exposed naked bodies. Harry, her Harry, the Harry she loved, was making love to her. It was just him and her, just how she had hoped it would be.

She wouldn't last long the way he was playing her. Letting go of the wand in her hand and finding another close by, she magically removed the rest of Harry's garments and silently conjured a contraceptive spell. She made room for him and as he slid naturally in between her legs, he looked down upon her, drowning her in his eyes crazed with desire as she had never seen before. Harry wanted her with an intensity that blew her away. It was at that exact moment that she knew she would belong to him for all of eternity.

Breathless and swooning, she wanted him; all of him; now. Her eyes would have said it all. He took her, filling her to depths no one had ever before. No adjectives could adequately describe the bliss of having him in her completely, body, mind and soul. He moved in and out of her rhythmically, slow and deep at first, the motion awakening more of what he already had. His pace quickened and she could feel him driving himself harder against her. Her hands rested on his buttocks, guiding him in closer with each incursion, her hips arching up to get him deeper than deep. They were so close and as if on cue, they looked at each other lovingly at the same time, profound affection overflowing between them.

In one powerful thrust, he emptied himself inside her at the exact moment wave after wave after wave of pleasure erupted from within her. Primitive sounds escaped them both and they clutched on to each other tightly as they rode out their peaks.

Gradually, his taut body relaxed. Their ragged breathing improved and he kissed her mouth sweetly. She kissed him back, pouring her love for him into each and every second of it. When their kiss ended he smiled at her happily.

"So that's what it's like," he said to her with a twinkle in his eye.

"I guess that's what it's like," she couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She loved him and she loved what they just did and how they did it. She also loved how he felt after, how he stayed where he was. And she loved what he just said and how he said it. Yes, she thought. Whatever he felt for her at the moment was more than enough. She asked him, "Curiosity satisfied?"

"Satisfied?" he scoffed, and then looked down where they were still connected and smirked mischievously, "Um...hardly."

She laughed; they laughed. He kissed her again and she eagerly kissed him back. She understood; she felt what he was feeling. What just happened, as wonderful as it was, wasn't enough. That night they made love again and again, less hurried than the first, their insatiable desires for each other pushing human physiologic and physical limits to the hilt.

Much later, with Harry holding her in his arms in a warm, intimate embrace, she opened her eyes and took in the image before them. The pond, the moon, the trees. She sighed. Just like it was with Harry, the place was more beautiful to her now than it was before.

And while she may have been his afterthought she didn't care. This moment with Harry was the happiest she had been in her life.

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29. The Epiphany

A/N. Thanks to all those who reviewed – so glad that last chapter did not disappoint.

Now – Harry’s POV. This is short but I do have to warn that you might not want to read this in too public a place :blush: There is also a danger of falling seriously in love with Harry here.

Like the last chapter it will be a better read if you read in the moment and not think of what we know will happen.

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Chapter 29 – The Epiphany

It was early Tuesday morning. Harry lay beside Hermione, holding her from behind with eyes closed and inhaling the sweet flowery scent he had been craving for all week. She was awake; he could tell because he could almost hear her thinking to herself and because of her feet. He smiled as she rubbed one up gently against his. It seemed that she liked doing that and it was growing on him.

He was woefully spent. His spirit was willing but the rest of his body was telling him to fuck off; something about rest or food or both. Unwilling to relinquish the warm spot beside Hermione he had been ignoring them and joined her silent introspection, wondering what she was thinking about. If he were to take an educated guess he was almost sure she was analyzing what just happened tonight.

So, what just happened tonight? he asked himself.

He was still in shock about how his plan to get her to go out with him ended up with her naked in his arms. It would be a serious understatement to say that the night had turned out better than he hoped. Expecting her resistance to the idea, he had done his homework, came prepared with logical arguments and had replies to every excuse he knew she would use to talk him out of it.

However, while he was confident he would eventually win her over, he didn't imagine this. He was counting on using their friendship to get her to at least look at him differently. Yes, it was a bit low, a testament to his desperation, so her attraction to him was a most welcome revelation. She sure hid her feelings well and how she reacted to his confession was quite interesting in itself.

That brought a ready smile on his face as he remembered how she found it so hard to believe that he fancied her. That was amusing to watch. He chuckled before he could stop himself.

"What's so funny?" her voice broke the quiet.

"You, how you found it so hard to believe me when I told you I liked you."

She acknowledged, finding it entertaining herself. At the moment, his arms were wrapped snugly around her waist, hers on them, giving them a light squeeze the same time he planted a chaste kiss on her hair. They fell back into an easy silence.

Portions of his body were still tingling, those she kissed and touched, at least the ones that he remembered. The spontaneity was so unlike her. This was really impulsivity and as happy as he was that this happened he couldn't keep the alarmed voice in his head from wondering if he had rushed her too soon. Hoping that it was going to be okay, he embraced her warm, soft body closer and kissed her hair again. She responded, molding herself against him, accepting his affection.

It had been a while since he physically ached for a woman like this and he wasn't mentally prepared when Hermione, sensing his urgency and obliging hers, asked that they make love. He wasn't prepared either for their first one to be as intense. Hermione's response to his touch was absolutely envigorating and their physical connection brought them to a level of complete intimacy he had not had with anyone before. Not to compare or complain but it was never like that with Ginny and he figured out what it was that made it so different.

To Hermione he was just Harry and seeing him through her eyes like this was refreshing. With her he felt a sense of security that no matter what he did he could do no wrong and that if he did do something wrong it wouldn't change anything between them. There was nothing she could do that would make him shun her either. With her he was more himself than he had ever been with anyone else, she had seen him at his best and at his worst, and it was this absence of worry of rejection that made him experience lovemaking of a different sort. They were caring partners, equals, each in it for the other and for themselves, giving and taking without strings, without condition. It didn't escape him how unique Hermione would forever be in his life this way.

His heartbeat quickened as he was suddenly hit by a mind blowing epiphany.

Without condition…

Forever…

He took a deep breath and held it in to help steady the banging against his chest. The questions and doubts paraded before him one at a time. It wasn’t possible; it was too soon. It certainly wasn't what he expected it would look or feel like. And it couldn’t be that obvious because if it were he would have seen it before.

But what if it was indeed obvious and he just never acknowledged it? What if loving her truly was possible this soon and this was it?

The thought frightened him for a split second and he cursed himself for it. What the hell was wrong with him? Wasn’t this the point in asking her to go out with him? To find out exactly how he felt about her? So it took less time to find the answer than he anticipated it would take but at least he didn't have to wonder anymore. This was a good thing, wasn't it?

That calmed him down enough to realize why it momentarily terrified him. He instinctively didn’t want to get hurt. That she was his 'unconditional and forever' and he wasn’t hers was scary. It was terrifying because letting go of her when the time came was going to be a bitch. Her voice rang clearly in his head, conscience-like.

If we do this and it doesn't work out the way we hope it will, at least one of us can get really hurt. Are you prepared for that?

Hermione was brilliant in a lot of ways. She had foreseen this and even warned him that this could happen. She found him attractive, sure, but he was mature enough to know that that didn't count for much. And while this wasn't a game for either of them; she honestly admitted that she didn’t love him, not in the way that she knew true love to be. He hadn’t fully comprehended what she meant about getting hurt until now.

Taking in another breath he let her essence fill him and took his own advice. It would be fine. If he got hurt it would be unintentional on her part and he could live with that. He would take this memory of her with him over how hurt he would be when he lost her anytime and they could go back to being just friends. What was that worn out cliche? It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all? He could already imagine her walking down the church aisle as he watched from the sidelines, a faceless bloke waiting for her up at the altar. How could something that far off hurt already?

Surprisingly he felt that her willingly being in his arms right now was enough and it was going to be enough if it was all she could give him. Tonight with her was one moment he wasn't ever going to forget.

Briefly he considered confessing again but decided against it. Now was not the time. In his gut he knew it would be wrong to tell Hermione about it without iron clad proof. She had a hard enough time believing that he fancied her and there was no way he could prove to her tonight that he cared about her more than he originally thought. He could hear her now, telling him he was imagining things just because they had amazing sex. Worse, he might scare her off or pressure her into feeling the same way for him. She’d probably feel sorry for him too.

Great...

No, he couldn’t tell her just like that. His words would ring hollow. She would demand tangible evidence and although he wasn't even sure what that proof was (considering she didn't believe in the 'measure of ifs'), he was sure he needed time. He needed lots of time for her to warm up to the idea to even consider it possible. Maybe if he was lucky they’d stay together long enough to get to that point when he could tell her and she would believe him. Maybe she could even grow to love him the same way back. A bloke could hope, right?

All this thinking about her stirred something in him again, something that was kind of the same except more meaningful with this newborn emotion. He drew her in, caressing her and staking a claim to her body, however miniscule and possibly temporal it was. Intuitively she huddled closer, opening herself up, welcoming his advance, but to him it wasn't enough. He nuzzled the length of her bare neck, peppering her with light kisses. He could do this all night, everyday, for the rest of eternity, if she would let him.

"Harry..."

"Uh-huh," he murmured lost against her smooth sweet skin.

"Perhaps you shouldn't start something you won't be able to finish," she reminded him in her all-knowing tone.

"I know," he admitted, agony in his voice. He almost misfired during the last one and didn't want to tarnish tonight with a less than perfect 'performance', "But I can't help myself."

"Do you need my help?" she asked with a hint of laughter in her voice.

"Like you helped the last time?" he chuckled, remembering what happened earlier, "I don't think so. Just let me do this for a bit. I think I'll be fine."

She turned and faced him, a naughty smirk on her face as she kissed him, keeping his now idle mouth preoccupied.

"Are you sure?" she said on his lips, nipping at it, driving him insane, "You know I don't mind helping."

She pressed herself up against him, and gave him another long, deep, lingering kiss. It was intoxicating; she was intoxicating.

"You're so not helping..." he complained as she continued to snog him senseless.

"No?"

Her playfulness made him want her more and they kissed until they were both breathless. He had her on him now, her legs straddling him as he held her gently by the waist, and she was brushing up against his aroused state, in her eyes, a deep brown at that exact moment, the same intense longing he felt for her. Like his, it was more than desire. It wasn't mere want but a need.

She guided him into her tight most warmness and rode him while he watched, the mix of the light from the fire and the moon illuminating her bare skin, blushing from their heated exchange and making her glow like a goddess. His natural reactions took over, his body responding to her sliding him in and out of her hot wet center, and it took all his remaining will power to contain himself, to wait. And it was well worth the wait.

On her last downward motion she arched her back, her face shining like ray of light, her walls contracting around him. She was biting down on her lower lip, muffling her scream. He had never seen anything more beautiful as she came, losing herself. Seeing her without control over him this way did him in. He reached his peak and as he did he felt her have another.

He knew at that moment that his heart would belong to her forever.

She slumped over him, burying her face on his neck, more breathless than he was, her chest pounding rapidly against his. He stroked her back and kissed her hair lovingly.

"Did you enjoy that?" he joshed, smile on his face just about permanent now.

She looked up still dazed, flushed and embarrassed somewhat, smiling, "I'm sorry, I didn't think you would mind."

"Oh I don't mind. I enjoyed it too," he reassured her.

Carefree and absolutely happy, he gazed into her hazel nut eyes and felt her joy shine through them. Seeing that strengthened his resolve not to ruin this for her. Figuring it out and calling it by whatever name wasn't going to change the fact that she was with him and he was with her. This was perfect in itself.

He felt her heart gradually slow down as she lay beside him, arms draped lightly across his body, her head resting against his chest.

Without looking she up asked, "Why did you bring me here? I mean aside from this place being beautiful and trying to stack the deck in your favour."

"I wasn't stacking the deck," he denied.

"If you say so," she said, not really buying it. It was silly to continue denying what was somewhat true. She asked again, "Why this place? Why not Grimmauld?"

He looked around and thought for a moment before answering. While he did hope the beauty of the place would swing things his way that wasn’t the main reason why he chose it. He wanted to be honest.

"Because this place witnessed the first time I decided who you were to me. I had to come back to tell it and prove to it that what I said then wasn't true anymore. You know, make a new declaration, exorcise demons in the process."

"Have all the demons been exorcised?"

He glanced behind Hermione at the spot where the Riddle versions of him and her kissed, deciding that such a detail was not for tonight (or maybe, not ever). The purity of what they just shared expunged and cleansed all the evil that manifested there five years ago.

"Most definitely," he replied with certainty.

"Good."

Her foot rubbed against his lightly again and moments later, he fell asleep.

A few hours passed. Harry woke up as she stirred in his arms. It was still dark out, darker now that the fire beside them had died down. With a quick flick of a wand he re-kindled it and watched her watch him.

They lay quietly for some time, facing each other, gazing into each other’s eyes. Behind her calm exterior she was happy, happy and anxious and maybe a tad scared. It made him feel a lot better knowing that they felt the same way.

“Thinking about backing out yet?” he asked.

She shook her head, “You?”

“Not a chance.”

He brushed a stray brown strand off her radiant face and leaned in. They kissed, long and sweet.

“I’m scared,” she admitted honestly, holding his hand.

“So am I,” he shared.

“I keep thinking this is a dream.”

“A good one, I hope.”

“The best I’ve had in a long while,” she smirked, her words making him smile, “I don’t want to wake up.”

“You know what’s even better? You’re not dreaming. You don’t have to wake up.”

Then he showed her how real this all was. He kissed her again, taking her in his arms. She melted in his embrace, encouraging him that what he was doing was right. It took a lot of effort to pull away from her. He rolled onto his back but she joined him and laid herself along the length of his body. He had no energy or desire to tell her how she was driving him mad.

“Do you want to talk about terms now? Maybe that will help me get my mind off its current pre-occupation."

"Terms?"

"You said you had terms; about dating each other."

"Oh...yes...the terms."

He had to chuckle. She was obviously just about to make them up on the fly.

Harry noticed something, "Not to question your sense of fairness but perhaps we should bargain from a more neutral position."

She looked down on him, teasing, "But I would have thought this position was actually more advantageous for you."

"Is that so? Terms Granger. I know what you’re trying to do so stop stalling."

"There's just two really," she carried on, knowing perfectly well her uncharacteristic lack of preparedness was evident.

"Just two?" he feigned disappointment, "I expected a lot more."

"Wait till you hear what they are,” she paused and said to him, “First, I think we should take this slowly."

They burst out laughing. They were laughing so hard they had tears in their eyes.

"It's a bit too late for that, don’t you think?" he commented.

Much too late.

"I knew it was a bad idea to talk terms after,” she cracked, unable to maintain a poker face, “I guess we should slow down then."

“I’m sorry but I can’t make promises. My self control near you isn’t very good,” he confessed.

And proving it, his right hand was now re-exploring her bare thigh. He lightly traced its length up the smooth path to where it ended.

“Harry, don’t…”

He watched her breath hitch as he slipped two fingers into her hot inner core.

“You were saying?”

“We…um…should slllooow…down…”

“Do you mean this slow?” he asked, showing her, fiddling with her highly sensitive flesh the same time he slid his fingers in and out of her.

She moaned something, then his name, then some unrecognizable expletive.

“Or maybe faster? Like this?”

Hermione buried her face into his neck, crushing her mouth roughly against him. Sleep had energized him; his arousal, seeing her this way and feeling her this way, was almost unbearable. But he was intent for this one to be just about her.

He rolled her over, grabbed her wrists and held them over her head as he ravaged her body until she was limp and disoriented. Working down the middle of her chest, he tasted soft, hot, flesh along the way, inching lower until he came upon his intended destination. Her legs parted readily for him as he kissed her in her most private place, licking her wet folds, gently sucking her until she came not so discreetly, shuddering as the ripples of pleasure overcame her. His work there was done. He took her and held her in his arms.

“I take it that wasn’t exactly what you meant by slowing down?” he teased.

“Prat,” she called him lovingly, still flushed and breathless, her eyes half-closed as she embraced him back.

Harry wished for this to never end.

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A/N. Hot enough?

30. Complicated

A/N. Many of you on Portkey may have missed the last chapter - Harry's Epiphany - when I uploaded it last Friday. If you did it's obviously better to read that first before this one. I'll spare you the details of how that happened but I've been writing like crazy so here's the next one.

Have fun.

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Chapter 30 - Complicated

Hermione's beating heart finally eased up. It was both irritating and exhilarating not having much control of herself around Harry. She thought it criminal that any person would have such a profound physical and mental effect on someone else but was thankful that for her it was him. The entire night had been one fleshly indulgence after another. How he was responding to her made her experience lovemaking intensely in a way she had never before and that last trip to heaven...well...she wasn’t completely back from that one yet.

"We should really slow down," she thought out loud, more telling herself than him.

"Why?"

"We're setting the bar too high. Anything else will pale in comparison compared to tonight," she glibly reasoned in half jest.

"Twisted as that sounds you do have a point there," he replied, "Tell me how to slow down and I’ll try.”

His words hung heavily in the air, enticing her to study them more closely. He said it with such familiarity that gave her a déjà vu feeling, like they had talked about this before. It was kind of how she would have imagined couples talking when they had been lovers for a long time. He took her hand, brushed the back of it lightly against his lips and intertwined his fingers with hers. Many times tonight she had seen and felt this tender longing affection in his eyes. It was so easy to believe there was a lot more there than what he had admitted to but she knew better than to put much stock in the delusion, thinking that even if it was true it would have been based on this one night of physical closeness. That was hardly the basis of a long lasting relationship and she preferred something other than that.

That was the real reason why she wanted them to slow down. The other something, if it were to happen, had to happen over time. But going back to their current problem she had no answers for how to slow things down either.

"So what's your other condition?" Harry asked her curiously.

He was referring to the terms of their dating she had hastily formed earlier. Thinking about it during brief intermissions of clarity that night she had come to the conclusion that what she was about to ask of him made the most sense but convincing him could be a problem. She had been thinking about how to tell him without hurting his feelings and hadn’t really come up with a good way. She pried herself away from his warm embrace and Summoned their clothes that were strewn about the forest floor close by. She handed him his.

"We should get dressed."

"This looks bad," he commented as they did as she suggested.

"It's not bad. It's just something we need to agree about before we continue and being naked and seeing you naked is kind of a major distraction,” she said too honestly.

They sat in front of the fire on the dead tree trunk he had pointed out to her earlier. She could tell the suspense was killing him.

"What is it?"

She took a moment to gather herself then just blurted it out.

"I prefer that we don't tell anyone, at least not yet."

She met his piercing gaze and immediately wished he would just say what it was that he was holding back from her. Masking his true emotions was one thing that Harry had significantly improved on since Hogwarts, a skill necessary when being around Dark wizards and criminals.. It was now second nature to him. He was much easier to read when he hung his emotions on his sleeve.

"Seriously?"

After the fun they had with the last one she couldn't blame him for not being sure if she was kidding.

"Yes, seriously."

"Why not?" he asked.

"Mostly because I'm not prepared to hurt Ginny, not for something we're not sure will last."

In truth it was not only Ginny that she was concerned about but Ron too. Harry doubted that it would matter to Ron and Ginny that much but to her it would and it seemed like an awful waste of friendships if things didn't work out. Then there was also the Ministry and her parents; well, her Dad.

As she expected, he disagreed, "Ginny has moved on. She's dating someone else. In fact, I think she's sleeping with him."

At the back of her mind her evil, miserable twin immediately pounced on the opening to rain on the parade.

Maybe all this was his way to get back at Ginny. What better way to hurt her than sleeping with her gullible, stupid, double-crossing best friend?

"Good then, that makes it alright because you're even," she retorted, looking away and biting back the tears in reaction to the stinging in her chest, hoping he wouldn't see her expression.

He gently guided her chin to face him and calmly said to her, "That's not what I meant."

His concern immediately quashed whatever doubts she had about his intentions. Harry wouldn’t do that to her or Ginny. He wasn’t that kind of person. That was such a moronic thought. She could only nod as she tried to shake it off.

He added, hoping to make things better, "I'm just saying that since she's doing that it would be hypocritical of her to have a problem with me sleeping with other women."

"She may not have a problem with you sleeping with other women and maybe not even with you sleeping with me but she'll definitely have a problem with me sleeping with you."

He seemed to understand that this wasn't about him.

"So you'd feel the same if your best friend shacked up with an ex boyfriend?"

To explain the conditions and exclusions that would cause her to feel or not feel that way was complicated and would take too much time. She opted to keep it simple.

"If you were my ex and I was Ginny, most definitely. I'll hex the bitch, gouge her eyes out, remove a kidney..."

"Ginny would never do that to you."

"Because she knows it would be idiotic to even attempt to - I'd be able to defend myself."

"Seriously now."

Hermione expounded, "I feel like a traitor, like I just stabbed her in the back."

"You shouldn't."

She wasn't convinced, "I'm supposed to be her best friend. I should feel guilty. The hardest part is accepting that I'm worse than horrible, that I'm prepared to keep on choosing to betray her instead of...well...denying myself...this."

"You're getting this all wrong!"

"I may be but that doesn't change what I feel."

He let out a deep sigh, his furrowed brows forming into one. He didn't agree but he didn't need to. It was enough if he understood and it seemed like he did.

"How can I help?" he asked, taking her hand into his.

She told him the first thing that came to mind.

"Do you think you can stay away from me until Ginny falls in love with someone else, gets married, and lives happily ever after?"

"As long as you have no objections to me using suggestive potions to expedite the process," he jibed making her smile weakly, "It's not everyday that I would wish for my ex-girlfriend to be happily married to someone else but 'ever after' seems such a long time. Are you sure you're not worrying over nothing? Maybe she’ll be happy for us. Maybe if we talk to her, she'll actually be fine with this."

As much as she wanted that to be true it was just unimaginable.

"I appreciate your trying to help but this is between me and her. If there's any talking to be done it should just be by me. You should stay out of it."

"I think we should tell her," he argued, "We owe her not to find out from someone else. And we owe ourselves. I'm not going to hide how I feel about you."

"I hope you're not asking me to chose between the two of you," she was being honest.

"Of course not," he replied with the same sincerity.

"Good, because I wouldn't know what to do. I'm not prepared to lose her friendship."

Or you.

"I'm trying to help you keep it. She'll never forgive us for keeping something like this from her. Well, she'll forgive me but she won't forgive you."

"Thanks, but I'll take my chances."

"That if this doesn't work out you won't have to tell her and she won't have to find out? She will eventually find out," he pointed out and then reminded her, "And doesn't thinking that this might not work go against keeping an open mind?"

"No, it doesn't. I've agreed. I am keeping an open mind," she said to him, "And I promise I will talk to Ginny if…when we're both sure about this. I'm still trying to figure this out. I need time. I think we both do."

"Why do you make things so complicated?"

It was a rhetoric question. He broke eye contact and looked at a spot within the dying embers of their fire. He was pondering it. She wished she could hear what he was thinking at the moment. It felt like she was waiting forever, this whole wonderful thing of being with him dependent on his acceptance of her condition. After some time, he reached a decision.

"Okay. We'll wait," she smiled. He tugged her hand towards him and they hugged. As they embraced he whispered in her ear, "Take as much time as you need."

"Thanks," she replied, relieved and felt him give her a kiss on her hair. It struck her how something that used to feel brotherly meant differently now, "And we still have to figure out what to do with the Ministry anyway."

He pulled away and frowned, "What does the Ministry have to do with this?"

"You're a supervisor. I report to you," she pointed out; it was something which he obviously didn't think about, "There are explicit rules in the Ministry Human Resources Policy Book that we can't be doing things like this."

“I don’t care,” he said brashly.

She hated it when he got this way but she would let him have his fit.

“Well, you’re Harry Potter. They can’t do anything to you.”

He didn't get her chastising tone on that one.

“They wouldn’t dare touch you either.”

“Probably not. It would be humiliating, though, having to live up to the fact that we’re above rules when fifteen couples to date have been transferred and fired because of them.”

“Really?”

She wasn't making this up but at least Harry was over his little temper tantrum. She had thought about it and had a simple solution.

“I could resign, move to a different Department…”

“Whoa! Wait a second," he protested, "You’re not resigning because of me.”

“It's not a big deal and I'm not resigning because of you. I’ve been waffling about staying anyway.”

“We need to talk about this some more. I'm sorry. I should have realized this was going to be a problem," Harry lamented, blaming himself unnecessarily.

"Don't be sorry. I'm not. It's just an unfortunate complication."

He was really concerned about how it would affect work more than he was about how Ginny would take the news so much so that Hermione was having regrets about even mentioning the Ministry. He made her promise she wouldn't do anything rash, like hand in her resignation. She wanted to argue the point but what mattered to her at the moment was that he agreed. They weren't going to tell anyone until both of them decided that what they felt for each other was for real.

The rest of the week passed like a blur. She didn't remember much else except for the times they spent together. It was so hard to concentrate at work. Neither of them deserved their keep and while she couldn't wait for Dean to get back from Australia so she could at least be more productive, she also didn't want to spend less time with Harry.

He did wine and dine her, choosing Muggle places to decrease the risk of 'getting caught' and thankfully did not press her about telling Ginny anymore. The few times he brought up the subject of the Ministry they didn't get too far and it seemed he was content with status quo for now.

Things were happening so fast. She was spinning and by Sunday night, in their room at Grimmauld, they lay on their bed holding each other and talked about how things were going to change because Dean was back that Monday morning.

"I'm actually starting to enjoy keeping you a secret," he said to her.

"You are?" she was surprised.

"It reminds me of our sneaking around Hogwarts and bending stupid rules," he explained. "The longer before we get busted, the more invincible I feel."

He chuckled as she turned crimson red.

"I am not making out with you in the Ministry broom closet again!" she emphatically declared.

"Admit it," he teased, "it was kind of fun."

It was in a juvenile kind of way but she was so not going to encourage him.

"We almost got caught!"

"That's the fun part," he dismissed, kissing her lips tenderly, melting her inside, "And these thoughts I have of you and me in the conference room need to be addressed. You could do a reprise of your demonstration about different firearms and how best to use them. I'm happy to assist."

He was impossible. But no matter how mad or angry she tried to be he knew her better than she did. He knew she couldn't stay mad at him and knew exactly how to diffuse situations whenever she got upset.

For his part he had been more patient with her. She had not seen him lose his temper and had not started an argument with her once since they began going out and she knew it was because they were in their 'honeymoon stage'. They were both willing to compromise to prevent friction, maybe more him than her. She tried not to think so much about that. It wouldn't always be this perfect. Never in her life had she enjoyed something without thinking about how to make it better or how to keep it going until now. As far as Harry was concerned she was living her life one day at a time.

By one month they had settled into a pattern. They worked, went out and met with friends as friends and spent the rest of the time with each other as lovers. Grimmauld became theirs both in name and in actuality. She convinced him to push through with the original plan of selling the place to her and being part owners until she could pay the entire amount. He resisted the idea at first because he was spending more time there than at his own apartment. She compromised that if or when things worked out they could revisit the arrangement. He understood how important it was for her to keep as many things the way they were as if they weren't seeing each other. He understood her need for independence.

Unimaginable as it was the love she had for him blossomed even more. It was the way he looked at her, how she saw herself through his eyes everyday that made her happy and content. And seeing his contentment and happiness made her feel more her feel more of the same. It was like no matter how crazy she got with some of her ideas and no matter how differently they saw things he would still care about her the same way. He supported her and gave her suggestions without impinging on her individuality, without getting hurt if she didn't take his advice. The fact that her innate tendency for intellectual independence was one of the factors that caused her last relationship to fail this was a big deal. Harry treated her as an equal like he always had and took care of her the way she wanted to be cared for.

As her lover she had nothing else to wish for. He was even more perfect than what he had been in her dreams. Her fantasy had become a reality in such a big way.

She was so happy that Dean noticed the change. It was a slow patch for Dark Wizardry again. She and Dean were still working on the Jollyweather case and had just discovered a similar one involving a different artefact collector but the same assistant Dodgey up north.

"So, who's the bloke?" Dean asked from the passenger seat as she drove their Ministry issue auto.

"What?"

"You heard me the first time. I've never seen you this distracted since after the first time you split up with Ron."

"You're imagining things," she dismissed.

"No, I'm not. The question is why are you keeping him a secret."

She ignored him.

"Ashamed of him?"

She didn't answer.

"That ugly, huh?"

He was trying to provoke her to correct him.

"Oh dear God! You're not shagging that guy from communications, are you?!"

That did it.

"Miles? No, of course not!"

"So, who is it?"

"It's none of your business."

"Anyone I know?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because I want to get him in a room with Seamus and Harry, interrogate him, and beat the crap out of him if he isn't serious about you."

"That's a sweet thought but just leave him alone. I'm happy. He makes me happy, okay?"

Dean said something about it not being over and begrudgingly answered her questions about his and Luna's wedding plans, his decision to join the IMP and moving to Australia in two months. She was going to lose a partner and a friend. She was going to miss him.

Later that week Harry mentioned that Dean asked him about him. They had just made love and were in the tub having a bath, one of their favourite things to do together. The combination of him kissing her, her kissing him and their bare skin touching and gliding smoothly over each other; well, there were some fantasies that were worth living out over and over again.

Hermione was leaning against his chest, their legs up against each other, his arms wrapped around her, when he spoke, "Dean asked me who I thought your boyfriend was."

"Really? What did you say?"

"I told him 'Miles'," he said then laughed.

"That's not funny!"

It was actually and she was laughing too.

"So, he suggested that we should invite Miles for a drink."

"Oh, no!"

"Don't worry. I told Dean we should back off and that you'd share your boyfriend with us when you were good and ready."

"Thank you for speaking my mind."

"My pleasure," he said, kissing her hair. "Thank you for telling him to lay off your boyfriend. Is it true what you said about me?"

"Which one?"

"That I make you happy?" he peered down her face, awaiting her response.

She turned slightly and craned her neck back, returning his gaze as she replied, "Happier than I've ever been before. But you should know that by now."

He had a most satisfied smile.

"It's nice to hear you say it once in a while," he said.

Her turn.

"And me? Do I make you happy?"

He answered, "Happier than happy. But you should know that by now."

"It's nice to hear it come from you once in a while."

He kissed her tenderly, so familiar to her now but still causing a million fluttering butterflies in her. That led to one thing and then another. They made love again right then and there.

Things like that always set them off. She had a few choice triggers, like joining the other in the shower, him getting in late and waking her up with slow kisses, and that one time he was away on assignment for a four nights. Hmm, they didn't make it out of the foyer.

Over the weeks she finally got him to be more disciplined about where and when to show affection. They stopped doing it at the Ministry and he agreed only if it was temporary (until he or she got a private office). But there was plenty of undisciplined activity by both parties to keep them pre-occupied. His spontaneity was infectious and they both shared an impulsivity problem near each other. Yes, she quickly found out that putting lovemaking on her timetable was just setting herself up to fail and that all of a sudden flexibility was her preferred word.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into weeks. By the time she really looked at the calendar and recognized dates again it was mid-March. They had domesticated, they weren't as volatile and there was some semblance of order. Lost were the conversations about when to let their friends and family know and about what to do with work. Once, her Mum called to report that her Dad was much better but was stubbornly refusing to see his doctor. Harry suggested them visiting her parents in Perth. She agreed in principle but was prepared to delay that as long as she could.

One early morning in bed, as he cuddled her from behind, she had a nagging thought. It was almost time for him to leave, go back to his apartment and get ready for work. This was one of her least favourite parts about being with him; this and when either of them had to work nights and they would be alone in bed. She found it difficult to sleep without his embrace now.

"Harry?" she whispered, wondering if he was still asleep.

"Uh-huh?"

He wasn't.

"I was just thinking..."

"Yeah?"

"You practically live here. Seems like a waste of time waking up early to go home, get changed, you know? And I worry about you getting enough sleep."

"Are you asking me to move in with you?"

"Yes, but only if you want to. I won't feel bad if you don't."

She would but that was not for him to know.

"I want to move in with you."

"Good. That's settled then."

This thing with him was out of control. They hadn't really slowed down. As time went on it seemed more reasonable to just go ahead and let their friends know. But he hadn't brought the matter up again and she didn't want to. Asking him to move in with her had been difficult enough and even though he said he wanted to she would have preferred if the idea came from him. She found that the only way she could be certain he wanted to be with her was if the ideas came from him. And she wanted him to be certain, not only for her but also for himself.

So he moved in and they lived together. He wasn't neat and tidy, couldn't keep up with how she preferred the cupboard and fridge contents organized and kept leaving stuff around. She knew that about him even before he moved in but it did bring some strain, which she thought was a good thing. Their relationship needed tests like this.

He tried to follow the rules at first but really seemed to have trouble with the concept of keeping like coloured vegetables and fruits together, and condiments and salad dressings in one place, even if it saved seconds finding them in the ice box. And in talking about it they had reached an amicable compromise. He'd make better effort to not leave stuff around if she could let him stock the fridge and cupboards however he chose to. Considering that the kitchen was his territory that seemed reasonable.

He improved...somewhat. To his credit she could see him make an effort. She realized she couldn't change him and found that she could tolerate his inadequacies more than she could anybody else's. That wasn't such a surprise. What was more surprising was how the changes he made in her life didn't bother her as much as she thought they would. She didn't begrudge the extra two seconds it took for her to find yoghurt and she was even beginning to like finding the occasional used shirt he had forgotten to put away. It was all part of being with him, of living with him, of him being a part of her life and of her being a part of his.

In late April Ginny finally got her first professional start with the Holyhead Harpies. She invited the Hogwarts gang to watch the game and all of them came to cheer her on; all except Harry. He declined, saying he had to work. Hermione checked and he was indeed working. Of course she and Dean were scheduled to work too but were able to find others to fill in for them. To her knowledge Harry didn't even attempt to switch with anyone or ask John for a few hours off. John would have approved.

Not that they avoided talking about Ginny; they did when her name came up, which rarely did. She just got really hesitant when it came to asking him questions about his ex girlfriend. Ginny told her almost everything about them and had details that she now wished she didn't know about. Her hesitation stemmed from not wanting his perspective of it, much like she didn't want to ask him why he wasn't going to watch Ginny play her first big game.

Hermione suspected he was doing it for her. If she asked him he might tell her then she'd have to tell him not to be ridiculous and lie that she was fine with him going to Ginny's game. Then she'd have to sit beside him and watch him watch Ginny fly. That would have been painful.

So she didn't ask. Ginny scored a hundred and fifty points that night, including the shot that got them past the other team who caught the Snitch a split second later for an almost tie. Hermione would have died from insecurity had he been there to witness that.

She was a horrible friend.

Feeling guilty she couldn't say 'no' when Ginny asked her and Jessie to stay. Hermione liked Jessie. Jessie was a fully entrenched member of the 'Hogwarts gang' now. Like Ginny, Hermione found her easy going and they got along well. It was good that Jessie was around for she filled the night with stories about her and Seamus, how she couldn't figure their friend out, how she couldn't decide whether he was serious about her and that she needed to know because she was falling in love with him.. She interviewed them about Seamus' past and they were more than willing to share the good and bad. Of all their friends Seamus had the most colourful history and had been involved with the wrong sort. Dean and Harry got him out in time. Jessie, like the scientist that she was, interrogated them until there was no stone left unturned to know what it was she was getting herself into. Both Ginny and her were honest; Seamus was a great guy but he didn't have a good track record when it came to women.

As usual, alcohol was Jessie's downfall; kind of ironic for someone falling for a bartender-pub owner. She was out in a couple of hours. At least they were in Ginny's flat. They put her on the couch and Hermione found herself alone with her secret boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, who happened to be her best friend. To say that the situation was complicated was an understatement.

"You've been so quiet tonight," Ginny called her on it, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, just tired," she replied.

"You do look like you haven't been sleeping well," her friend pointed out the obvious.

Hermione took a swig of her second butterbeer as she answered in her mind, I've been sleeping great, just not enough.

"Great game."

"Thanks," Ginny broke into a bittersweet smile, then a tear slid down a cheek, then on the other, then two, then Hermione lost count.

She put her arm around Ginny's shoulders and let her friend cry on hers, making her feel worse about everything. Ginny sobbed and Hermione knew what it was about.

"Hush now," she tried to console Ginny; she had tears in her eyes too.

Then came Ginny's gut wrenching admission, "It feels empty without him here. I wished he would turn up, that he changed his mind and would watch me play even for ten seconds. But he didn't..."

"Sshh..." Hermione hushed her again as she continued to cry.

"Why didn't he come?" Ginny asked her.

"He...um...had to work. I'm sure if he didn't have work he would have been here cheering."

"I miss him so much. How is he?"

"He seems fine," she replied.

"Is he seeing someone seriously?"

"I'm not sure," she lied; living with someone was, she just realized, quite serious.

"He is, isn't he?" Ginny wasn't stupid, "it's okay, you don't have to hide it from me. I'm fine with that. Well, I'm not but you know what I mean."

For a split second Hermione was tempted to tell her the truth.

But don't you have to ask Harry first?

You know he wants to tell her.

That was in the beginning. What if he changed his mind?

No, he hasn't and you know it. Stop being a fucking coward and tell her the truth!

Ginny pulled away and the opportunity was lost, including whatever tiny amount of courage she had.

"Is he happy?"

Why did she have to ask questions with answers she knew would hurt?

"I think so."

"Good," Ginny said bravely, "What's wrong with me? We just won a game. I should be happy too. I need another drink."

Hermione needed another one too. They talked some more, mostly about their other friends, about the Ministry and then about Ginny's last boyfriend, who she broke up with because she kept seeing Harry's face on him whenever they had sex.. That was way too much information for it got her thinking about bad things.

Ginny wondered her fears out loud, "Do you think Harry has the same problem?"

She didn't remember what she said. Hermione was an emotional mess when she got back to London the following morning. It was early and Harry was still in bed.

"I missed you," he said the second he woke up after she joined him, drawing her closer and into his arms.

He brushed his lips against hers and nipped at it. She kissed him back but the pesky thought Ginny planted in her mind made her wonder if he was really kissing her or Ginny..

"Did you have fun?" he asked when she pulled her mouth away.

"Ginny won the game for the team."

"I heard. She's a good Chaser. The Harpies chose well," he said matter-of-factly, then repeated, "Did you have fun?"

"It was a fun game."

He frowned, recognizing that something was amiss.

"What's wrong?"

"I want you to be brutally honest with me."

"I always am. What's eating you up?"

She gritted her teeth and asked candidly, "Do you see Ginny's face when we have sex?"

His lips pursed together and he gazed deeply into her eyes, "No, I do not see Ginny's face when we make love. I see you, your brown hair, you hazel nut eyes, your soft red lips. I see the friend I grew up with, a very attractive woman, driving me crazy with desire, like right now."

He paused and waited for her response. Drowning in the sea of warm affection in his eyes she could only think of one. She threw herself all over him, found his mouth with hers and kissed him passionately until they were both breathless. They made love and he swiftly melted her insecurities away.

After, minutes later, as they kissed each other languidly, he mentioned something about the first night they were together.

"A goddess!?" she exclaimed in disbelief and panic, "I looked like a goddess!?"

He was chuckling. Her reactions sometimes amused him and most times, like now, she was fine with it.

"Tell me you're lying about that," she said sternly.

"It's meant to be a compliment," he defended his revelation.

"I don't want it. Take it back."

"You can't refuse a compliment," he pointed out.

"I believe I just did. I don't need compliments like that. It sets me up to fail in the future. It's like people calling me brilliant all the time. I'm not brilliant all the time. Don't call me goddess anymore because I'll eventually believe it and then I'll feel bad if you don't see me like a goddess anymore, which is very possible, considering I will get old and..."

"Hermione," he interrupted, which was a good thing because she was running out of rambling material, "I get it. You don't want to be seen as a goddess. I can't help what I think but I won't say it out loud anymore."

He was still amused, his eyes showing the laughter he was holding back. She loved him. She loved him so badly. Ginny's agony, while still festering in the back of her mind, faded in comparison to it. She leaned closer and let him wrap his arms around her as they kissed, deep, lingering, full of meaning.

"Goddess," he whispered against her mouth, a grin on his lips.

"Stop it..."

“Sex goddess…”

She laughed, helpless as he continued to mouth the word, teasing her. Her phone was ringing in the background. She reached over Harry and grabbed it, motioning him not to speak. Her breasts were hanging 'invitingly' over his mouth and with mischief in his eyes he began licking her right nipple and gently sucking her breast. As much as she would have wanted him to continue it was best if he didn't.

"Harry, wait a second. It's my Mum."

He groaned a complaint but behaved himself.

"Mum?"

A sudden panic washed over her. Her Mum was crying and trying to talk in between sobs. Hermione couldn't make out what she was saying.

"Mum, what's wrong?!...Mum....Mum, talk slowly."

"It's Dad...come quick. He's calling for you."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I hope you like their relationship as I've portrayed it. I decided on just snippets of it - for brevity - so we can move on. There's still so much to write.

31. Her Little Secrets

A/N. It was quite enjoyable reading your mostly enthusiastic responses about the last two chapters. You have all been very patient for sticking around and I hope most thought this long journey into the past was worth it.

Someone commented on how the HGness of this fic is overshadowing all the HHr in it. That's unfortunate. The premise is the Epilogue did happen, Harry and Ginny did get married and stayed together for a long time. I couldn't make HG a terrible thing and have them all suffer constantly for almost two decades. Even Hermione did not suffer constantly :lol: They accepted their 'fate' the best they could and moved on as some of us have to in real life :)

I do want Hermione to overcome her insecurity about not being Harry's first choice. She has to deal with the fact that Harry cared for someone else before her (who happens to be her best friend who stll loves him) and that doesn't mean he cares about her less.

As their relationship isn't perfect they have a few things to work out. In this one Harry finds out that their living together isn't her only secret.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 31 - Her Little Secrets

A light drizzle fell upon the modest Muggle cemetery in Sutton that dark gloomy Thursday afternoon. Hidden under his Invisibility cloak about fifty feet away, Harry watched as the funeral for Kurt Hugo Granger came to an end, the hundred or so attendees scattering away from his grave. He saw the deceased man's wife, Emiline, walking away escorted by a close family friend into an awaiting black limousine. It slowly drove off leaving Hermione behind.

She was standing alone beside the open earth where her father's body had been lowered into just moments before. While her eyes had been dry throughout the ceremony as she held her Mum who was inconsolable, they weren't dry now. He couldn't just stand there and do nothing.

The man was dead, as far as Harry was concerned the funeral was over and they had respected his wishes of not having Magical folk other than Hermione in attendance. He still couldn't understand how a dying man in his right mind would wish this when he knew that all his daughter's friends were non-Muggles. If he had a problem with him then he should have excluded just him.

He took a calming breath in and out. Perhaps even just for Hermione he would have more respect for the dead.

Assured that there was no one around he put his cloak away and approached. She had her eyes closed and was gritting her teeth, scrounging her face as tears fell down her cheeks. He stood beside her then put his arm around her shoulders. She turned into him, burried her face in his chest and wept silently, her tears immediately soaking his coat and his shirt. Holding her tight, he planted a kiss in her hair, his heart hurting for her. He could only imagine how she felt laying a parent to rest and would never pretend to know. He never knew his father; Hermione would have many memories of him and it would be more difficult for her to let him go.

Until the distressing phone call from her Mum everything seemed fine. Her Dad was supposedly getting better from a persistent cough. It turned out that he had a heart attack and that while on the beach that morning as he was about to paddle out to catch some waves he had another massive one. They got to the Perth hospital within the hour, her father lost consciousness minutes after and passed away before sunset, some three hours later. Hermione and her Mum were with him when he let go of his last breath.

Harry thought it was too bad he didn't get a chance to help mend what broke five years ago. When Hermione explained why she was reluctant to take him to Perth and get to know her parents better she made it seem like it wasn't a big deal.

It was sometime after he moved in with her. Her Mum had just called from Perth (she usually did once or twice a week) and he was trying to convince her to go to Australia and spend maybe just a weekend with them. They were living together and this to him meant she was serious about their relationship too. He wanted to get to know her parents, thinking that perhaps since the idea of him moving in was hers, this was a reasonable next step in the right direction.

She flat out said 'no', a surprise to him. It was as if she had decided this long ago and it wasn't even something that was negotiable. In a previous life he would have lost his temper and likely pouted like a two year old but having 'studied' her for a couple of months now he figured out a better way to get her to change her mind about things like this. But first he had to find out why she didn't want him spending time with her parents.

"Why can't we visit them?"

"Because they won't be able to keep this a secret."

Her answer was automatic, well thought out, and playing to his concern about how being outed would affect her reputation and credibility at the Ministry. The latter was really just about the only thing holding him back from asking her whether she thought it was time to come out in the open and it was something he was working on behind the scenes..

"We can go as friends."

She shook her head, "That's not a good idea."

He asked calmly in a non-accusatory tone, "What aren't you telling me?"

After briefly thinking about it she told him the truth, "I hope you won't take this the wrong way. My Dad and I had a falling out after I restored their memories. He was upset about the memory alteration and because he can't stay mad at me he's mad at the magical world; mostly you really, seeing that you kind of represent it."

She was trying to lessen the weight of the blow, and it was a heavy one. He didn't care what other people thought of him but he kind of hoped her parents would at least like him. It was important that they would think of him deserving of their daughter's affection, something he never imagined he would ever have a problem with.

As Hermione gave him what was a toned-down version of events he realized how stupid he was. How could he not think that her parents would have a problem with their teenage daughter altering their memories and sending them off to Australia to be different people, even if it was to save their lives? If he was her father he would be livid.

"It's really just my Dad and he'll get over it, in a decade or so," she half-joked.

"'Hermione, this is a big deal. Let me talk to him."

"Trust me on this, it's not the right time," she replied, "If I wanted to soften him up he knows you'd be the last person I would take with me. I suspect he'll deduce what's going on quickly and I can't trust my Dad not to cause problems. They are planning to visit soon. Maybe then?"

It was one of those 'soons' that never came and it was now too late. He asked her then why she never told anyone about her Dad and she said it was because there wasn't much anyone could do about it and there was no sense making everybody feel bad. She seemed to do that more than necessary, keep stuff, sometimes little, sometimes big, from people she cared about so they wouldn't get hurt. That was her flaw; she couldn't trust others to be able to handle the truth and do the right thing with it. So she kept them because she could and because no one really asked.

He stroked her hair gently, wondering what other secrets like the one she was burying today burdened her. She pulled away, brushing the remaining tears off her face with one hand. In her other hand was a white flower; a delicate, flawless orchid. She had ordered it especially from a Muggle flower shop and asked him to pick it up for her while she readied herself this morning. The flower had gotten somewhat squished between them and that upset her more. Without asking, he magically revived it making it look more vibrant than before.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed it in thanks. With tears brimming once again, she planted a kiss on it, stepped forward and let go of it, letting it fall into the void below.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he barely heard her say then she turned and walked away towards the pedestrian path that led back to the cemetery entrance.

As they did that he caught a glimpse of the tombstone immediately next to her father's grave. It was so close to his and so far removed from the rest it had to belong to one of her closest relatives. Curiosity filled him as he read the fading inscription on it.

Patricia Louise Granger

Born 14 February 1988

Died 19 September 1989

Beloved Daughter, Little Sister

Hermione kept going and he couldn't ask her about it, not then. Her sister likely, one who died on her tenth birthday. It made sense now why she preferred not to celebrate whenever hers came around. It was yet another detail about her she chose to keep to herself. For a brief moment he thought about looking into her employee file. It was convenient, easy and would give him instant gratification but it would be wrong. Like most things about them he figured knowing her more would come with time. He was sure the matter of a deceased sister would come up again.

Her Dad's sudden death devastated her and it was days before she could talk about him without breaking into tears. She told Harry she wished she had time to tell him how sorry she was. She never really did apologize even if to her she had no choice on the matter.

Her Mum had gone back to Perth, turning down her offer to stay with her in London. It was a spirited discussion. Secretly he was relieved. Her staying would have meant him moving out, temporarily, until he got the Ministry problem sorted out. He didn't feel good thinking that, about it in the end being about what he wanted and not what she did, but he couldn't lie to himself.

After the funeral they kept busy with work. Hermione joined a Ministry committee that would address the free elves situation and Harry got funding into it by agreeing to get involved in the Ministry Tourism's Harry Potter Magical tour. It had been in the works for a while and was going to happen whether he liked it or not. He made sure Hermione was in on it too for he needed her eye to see all possible repercussions of such an endeavour. Simply put they had to make sure it would be factual but leave out stuff about the Hallows and Horcruxes. Hermione thought it wasn't such a good idea but came to realize there were some things they couldn't prevent. That and it was for a good cause. The other good thing about it was that they could be certain the tour didn't include anyplace anywhere near their private pond.

The month of May also brought about an opportunity to bring their relationship closer to being out in the open. With John's impending retirement Harry had been suggesting for weeks that they prepare for the transition. Trussell moved into upper management leaving a supervisory position vacant and she was the logical choice. Unpopular as she was with Trussell and the soon to be Head Auror Humptail, John and Kingsley were on Hermione's side. He hated the politics but it was the nature of the beast. He had to learn to play it if he wanted to get things done. It wasn't enough being Harry Potter and while that was how it should be, there were times when that being so would have been handy.

She took the job reluctantly, confessing that she still wasn't sure if she wanted to stay. He convinced her to take it anyway; there was no harm to do so and if she decided it wasn't what she wanted she could always step down. He admitted to her that he selfishly wanted her to stay, that there was so much more they could do together than apart. No pressure, he added. In the back of his head he was thinking that although she would understand how he wouldn't be able to tell her everything about work if she resigned, it would be a bonus if she stayed so they could freely discuss cases. He was so used to having her as a sounding board. She helped him think clearly, well after they got most distractions out of the way.

Her promotion made him feel more at ease. They were equal in rank now and if someone found out they were lovers it wouldn't matter as much anymore. As the reasons for keeping their relationship secret fell one by one he felt more confident that he could broach the topic again. Everyday with her was proof that this was right, that it would last. Looking into her brown eyes every morning he woke up next to her he had no doubt that she felt the same way about him even though she hadn't admitted anything of the sort. He wanted them to be free of their secret. He was weary of watching other men hit on her and of women asking if he was interested. And without that freedom discussions of ‘forever’ would be much more difficult. Forever happy in secret while a romantic notion was really unrealistic.

But there was one reason why she was holding back. Ginny. Just as he thought the longer they kept their relationship secret the harder it would be for Hermione to tell Ginny about them. She couldn't get past the idea of telling Ginny convinced that Ginny would get hurt.

Ginny had called her a few times around the time her Dad died, offering to come. Hermione declined and Ginny didn't insist. From what he gathered Ginny didn't have much spare time these days. Between the games and practices, there were interviews, guest appearances and product promotions. Ginny had become an overnight Quidditch superstar. Harpies management and Ginny's agent were striking while the iron was hot and taking advantage of her skyrocketing popularity.

While he was concerned about how she was getting 'used' and gave her his cautious advice during a phone conversation, he kept that from Hermione. Ginny was still a touchy subject between them. It was the reason why he decided not to attend any of her games. He wanted to go, particularly on her first one, just to show support. He still cared about her as a friend and the fact that she invited him meant she wanted him to be there. It seemed not long ago when he listened to her imagine what it would be like to play her first game as a professional, how nerve-racking it would be and she confirmed that her first was exactly how she thought it would be. She called him to chastise him lightheartedly about not coming and invited him to her next game. He couldn't because he couldn't bear the thought of making Hermione feel terrible, even if she would have had no reason to.

As unfounded as Hermione's insecurities about Ginny were they existed and they weren't in a place in their relationship yet to make her feel differently. Ginny was his ex-girlfriend and Hermione had a front row seat witnessing all of that. She still felt like she stole him from Ginny. Telling her that she had no reason to feel insecure wouldn't work; she'd have to arrive at the conclusion herself. It would take time to make her truly believe that she was the centre of his life now and a huge part of that, he believed, was for Ginny and the rest of the world to know that they were a couple.

To him it was now inevitable. It was no longer a matter of if they would come out in the open but when. And when the time came it would be better if Hermione realized that she couldn't prevent all the bad feelings in the world from happening and that even if Ginny or Ron or whoever else did get hurt, then they would have to deal with it.

As Trussell didn't want to show her the ropes Harry was more than willing to do it himself. It wasn't hard. Hermione was a natural. She had always been a quick and decisive thinker, and her instincts more often than not were right. If there was one thing that she needed work on was her patience with her team. She expected as much hard work and dedication from each and every Auror under her as she put out. She needed a lot of work on that.

All this also meant she had to put in more hours at work and less time with him. Lying alone in their bed for the sixth straight night and missing her terribly was making him question just how brilliant the idea of her taking the job was and he was the one who suggested it.

He couldn't stand it anymore. He got up from bed, got dressed and Disapparated just outside a shabby inn on Juxtapose Alley, a block east of Knockturn Alley, where Hermione and Dean had been spending the past nights doing surveillance on Borgin and Burkes. He nodded at the innkeeper who was a Ministry informer, went up the flight of stairs and rapped on room three.

Dean's footsteps drew closer and he opened the door after a brief pause.

"Harry, what are you doing here?" Dean asked.

Hermione was near the window and had turned towards the door. Their eyes met and he quickly dispelled her worry.

"I was just in the neighborhood," he replied, "Any luck?"

Days ago Hermione's team found a hot Jollyweather locket being auctioned off at a charity sale and traced it back to a legitimate purchase from Borgin and Burkes.

"Old man Blutus is no fun to watch," Dean complained. "If he is involved in the Jollyweather robbery something else would have turned up by now. Maybe the locket ending up on the store shelves was just a bad buying mistake."

Hermione disagreed, "He and his partner have been in the business way too long to fall for hot merchandise."

"Then they should also know better than to be caught with hot stuff in their inventory," Dean pointed out.

"We've been here almost a week and we haven't found anything else; not one violation," she noted.

"That's odd for a place in Knockturn Alley," Harry commented.

"Exactly. They know we're watching," she concluded.

"Do you want to wrap up surveillance?" he asked her.

She thought for a moment then answered, "Seeing that Borgin and Burkes is our one link to the elusive Dodgey I think we should keep at it. The merchandise is too valuable to sit on for a long time. They'll break, get sloppy and try to move some of it through the store again. But maybe we should let them think we're looking elsewhere."

"I like where you're going with this," Dean approved, "I can start asking informers about a possible Dodgey sighting with their less legit competitors. Nothing official."

"Sounds good," Hermione concurred.

Harry suggested, "You might want to consider having the team stake out from a different place tomorrow."

"Right," she must have noted the slight annoyance in his voice about the whole thing dragging on for much longer.

"So, Boss Lady," Dean's chosen endearment for his newly promoted partner annoyed her no end but there was nothing she could do about it, "Does this mean I can go home now and watch the tail end of West Ham's game against Manchester?"

They both looked hopefully at her as they waited for her response.

"Yes, you may go."

"Yes!"

Harry laughed as he heard her rant on how pathetic it was that some soccer game seemed more important than catching crooks and how most days she felt like she was dealing with children. Dean was too happy to notice or care. Her partner put away their surveillance gadgets in record time and even offered to drop them off at the Ministry. Then he left.

"Finally," he took her in his arms and pulled her in after the door closed, her warm familiar body falling against his in place, "I thought he'd never leave."

"Harry, you're as bad as he is. I'm working," she was protesting in words but not in deed; he kind of liked making her feel conflicted like this.

"You just packed up and sent your partner home to watch football," he reminded her, leaned down and brushed his lips lightly against hers.

"I wish you wouldn't remind me about that," she groaned, realizing what she just did.

"Let me take your mind off it then."

She never had a chance. He pressed his mouth fully upon hers and kissed her as he had wanted to for days, taking in the sweetness and passion she gave back, feeling her very same longing for him.

"Is this what you came here for?" there was relief in the strain in her tired eyes and she brought her arms around his neck.

"Well..." he raised his brows and her soft laughter signalled her understanding and approval of its meaning, "It's not the only thing."

His deprived carnal instincts pretty much took control after. His mouth found hers again, more fiercely this time, kissing her roughly. Without even knowing it he had lifted her effortlessly halfway across the room onto the perfectly made bed, setting them both on it, pinning her entirely under his weight. He kissed her raw until her lips parted with a sigh, her body, willing and open for his taking. Her tongue met and carressed his as she pulled his breath into her.

He broke off from her dizzying spell, breathless, heart pounding against his chest, the tightness in his pants eager to explode. Gazing into her eyes they were filled with the same desire. Then a glint of mischief sprang from them and before he could ask her what she was up to, she had unfastened his belt, unzipped his pants and had his fullness in her hand, stroking it and making gentle squeezing motions up and down his fully grown length.

"Not yet," he tried to say into her ear as he needed all his strength and concentration to prevent him from coming right then.

"I want you now, Harry," she whispered invitingly in his then took his earlobe between her lips and ran her tongue smoothly against it.

It was unbearable. The need to feel himself inside her was overpowering he couldn't wait any longer. He sat back on his heels, tugged her pants down and just about ripped her knickers off of her. Still both half dressed he plunged himself into her warm moist spot, the pleasant tightness with which she encased him encouraging him to seek more pleasures within. She let out a short sharp cry as he did and bit her lower lip.

"That hurt," he said to her, concerned, having seen this happen before, when he took her too soon and she wasn't ready.

"It'll pass," she reassured him, urging him to go on.

He waited for her to adjust to his sudden intrusion then moved himself in and out of her as she lay back, watching the tension on her face replaced by more positive expressions. He felt her wetter and hotter with each incursion and there was not much he could do to prolong it. In one deep final thrust he gave her everything he had, clutching her body by the hips tightly against his as he did. As breathless as he was, she sat up, moved herself against him a couple of times and peaked. She kissed him arduously with the same satisfied smile he had.

They snogged languidly after, seemingly for ages, then she stopped suddenly, her body tensing up and her expression changing as her sight went past him to the door behind.

"Dean!"

With Hermione still on him he turned the best he could and looked over his back to see a surprised but amused Dean standing near the door.

"Oh, whatever you do, please don't move," Dean quickly said as Hermione reflexively wanted to get off, "I don't want to be seeing more of either of you. By the way, nice ass, Harry."

"Um, thanks," he could think of no other way to answer that, this being the first time he was having such a conversation with Dean in a compromised position.

Hermione was in near panic.

"How long have you been...?!"

"Standing here? Thankfully not long but long enough to guess what happened before," then he scolded them, "Geez, you guys nearly gave me a heart attack. If you two want to sneak around and don't want others to find out you're sleeping together you should really lock the doors when you do this."

It was sensible advice. Harry winced. Hermione turned and glowered at him for missing his one assignment.

"Sorry," he apologize then asked Dean the first question that came to his mind, "Why did you come back?"

Not that the why mattered so much than the fact that he did.

"I left my phone somewhere. I remember seeing it, on the bed," he defended himself, the expression on his face quite funny as the prospect of his phone being in their current vicinity dawned on him, "Well, I hope it's not there. It was a perfectly good phone. I should get going. Maybe the game is still on. I'm really sorry for interrupting this high level meeting."

Harry laughed with him as Dean said that. Even Hermione let out an embarrassed smile.

"I'll talk to you guys tomorrow," Dean made for the exit.

"Dean..." she called out after him with a concerned tone in her voice.

Her partner understood, "I know. Mum's the word. Though you know I'm going to want to hear the lame reason you guys have for not telling anyone."

Harry would love to hear what Hermione would tell Dean too. Dean finding out was definitely a good thing. At least there was now one other person that Hermione could talk with about their situation. It was hard but he was big enough to admit that they were not an island and as much as they were pretty good on their own they couldn't be everything to each other. She needed someone other than him to talk to about Ginny.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. I am glad JKR left most of Hermione's background off Canon. There will be more about her little sister in a future chapter - those who know my writing know that will be of relevance at some point

And to those who are wondering when we're going back to the present I still have a few key scenes to write. There's still Jean Peverell and one involving Ginny that will force Hermione to choose. On a happy note Warren's back in the next chapter. There's also the appearance of someone Hermione wished she would never see again in her life.

32. Skeletons In Her Closet

A/N. This is not the chapter I intended to write (translated as ‘forget what I said I would write about’) and I actually dwelled on whether or not to post it. It doesn’t move the plot along but it’s two in the morning and I’m not thinking straight. Here a synopsis of what it contains.

The first half of it is really just HHr smut :). If that’s not your thing you might want to move along. All the intimate HHr moments I’ve been writing is my way of trying to make up for what’s about to happen but do let me know if you think it’s overdone and I’ll try not to embellish or include pointless ones.

The second half is about her sister which I originally thought I wouldn’t write about until much later. Its significance to the story should be self explanatory.

I do hope that this chapter will at least entertain.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 32 – Skeletons in Her Closet

Hermione woke up early Saturday morning, the sun just peaking over the balcony through the French doors. Harry's bare feet were touching her feet and his warm body was against hers.

She made every effort not to move, not even flinch. Harry was such a light sleeper he usually woke up when she got off the bed. He got in so late last night and she thought he needed the extra minutes. After all they didn't need to be somewhere else today. She could easily tell he was still asleep by the way his soft breath fell on her nape and by the way his arms felt heavily around her, all protective and territorial.

That brought an amused smile on her face. Awake he wasn't this possessive. In fact he was far from it. He gave her space to do her thing. Even with the promotion and while training under him he didn't crowd her, allowing her freedom to think for herself. He didn't impose himself or force her into choosing his suggestions. He let her make mistakes and in the process made her successes really her own.

Outside work he was as supportive and understanding. When her father died he let her mourn the way she wanted to and knew exactly when she needed him without her having to ask. He knew her, really knew her, sometimes, scarily enough, seemingly better than she knew herself.

And it was one thing knowing her but another thing being okay with who she was. She had no delusions about being the most lovable, easy to get along with person. Her family had difficulty with her and her ideas; even she had difficulty with herself sometimes. But three months later, the last two living with her, he was still here, still looking at her with the same longing gaze, still treating her with the same respect, still making love with her with the same passion, still holding her with the same tenderness. She had very little doubt now that he cared about her, maybe as much as she cared about him. And she was utterly and madly in love with him.

Waking up to all this had no equal. Tears ran down her cheeks and she had to laugh at herself. This was overly sentimental even for her. It was funnier when she realized the reason for her tears; she didn't take too much happiness very well.

Gathering herself, she closed her eyes and let her mind be at peace, reassuring herself that it wasn't obscene to feel this blissful. She let Harry's warmth lull her to sleep and hours later woke up to the sensation of her friend and lover kissing her hair.

"Good morning, sleepy head," he greeted with an easy smile.

She liked how he did that; how he kissed her to wake her up and how his eyes kind of lit up as he said good morning. Actually she liked how he did pretty much everything.

"Good morning," she replied, returning his smile in kind.

With a slight frown he enquired "Are you feeling okay?"

"Why do you ask?"

"It's half past ten."

"Really? That late?"

He nodded, then placed the back of his hand against her forehead, "You look flushed."

"I'm a bit tired maybe but I'm fine," she dismissed his concern, really not knowing what the fuss was about, then asked, "So, what are we doing today?"

His eyes narrowed as he volleyed the question back, "What do you want to do?"

"It's your day to decide, remember?" she pointed out.

They took turns choosing what to do on their days off. There were basically two rules; first, it had to be something the chooser wanted to do and not something they thought the other wanted, and second, they absolutely had to do whatever that choice was at least once. Her picks were cultural and educational. He was a good sport about it; doing stuff he would never do just on his own, some of the places he actually enjoyed. The worst one was when she took him to watch an opera. He was astounded to learn people actually paid a lot of money to see it. Maybe that was a bit too much 'culture' for him.

But he got her back his next turn; tandem bungee jumping. She wanted to hex him so badly after the jump, after he gave her back her wand. He quickly dispersed her ire (he had his ways) and got her to admit that a part of her did enjoy freefalling with him. It was symbolic in a way, an affirmation, that she was freefalling already. The rush of all the various emotions she had been feeling for him since that night by the pond flashed before her eyes in the seconds she relied on a man-made rope to keep her and Harry alive.

She was never going to be talked into doing that again. Save for some of the things they went through as teenagers, bungee jumping was the stupidest thing she had ever done in her life and that included the many times she got back together with Ron. The one good thing about it was that at least bungee jumping didn't leave any lasting scars. Needless to say she still got anxious every time it was his turn to choose. She definitely wasn't thinking properly when she agreed to the entire arrangement.

Harry was still pondering his options, which scared her all the more. The more time he thought about it the more 'special' it would be.

"We can always start with the usual," she suggested, trying to keep a poker face, "That sometimes gives you ideas."

He laughed and wagged his finger at her, "No. Not today. Today I've decided we are not having pre-date sex."

She scoffed, amused.

"You don't believe me."

"It's not that I don't believe you," she reasoned, "I just don't think you can do it."

They usually had pre-date sex when it was his turn.

"See. This is exactly why I have to do it," he was joshing, "Don't get me wrong. I love making love with you. It's one of my favourite parts about being with you but I don't want you thinking that's all I'm good for or, Merlin forbid, believe that's all I think about"

"I don't think that."

"Not yet. But that's what I feel compelled to prevent," he was being silly, "So if only to prevent my reputation from being tarnished I sacrifice today as no sex day."

She couldn't help but chuckle.

"Are you challenging my ability to control myself around you?"

"I guess, yes," she answered with confidence, "So, if we're not having sex today what are we doing?"

"I choose to have you decide what to do."

"That's a rule violation."

"Not necessarily," he said shrewdly, "Not if you decide on something I want to do."

That made sense.

"Okay."

She extricated herself from his arms and slowly slid off him but not before brushing suggestively against his supposedly 'off duty' body part. It was difficult to keep a straight face as she stood at the foot of their bed, facing him while he watched her. He had propped himself up on both elbows curious about what she was up to.

"So, you want me to pick something which I know you'll want to do," she said thoughtfully, biting her lower lip as she slowly tugged on the free string of her blue silk pyjama bottoms and let them fall by her ankles.

His brows lifted up and he swallowed hard.

"'ll need to think about it," she continued, bringing her fingers to the top button of her shirt and then unfastening each button one at a time, careful to expose more skin as they made their way down.

When she got to the last button she stopped, gently slipped the thigh length fabric off her shoulders leaving her bare, all bare, having opted to dispense with wearing underwear last night.

Harry who was watching her intently all this time, was red. His breathing was unsteady, his gaze carressing her body. It felt like he was touching her with his hands already, causing her heartbeat to mimic the sound of raging bulls just off the gates in Pamplona. She was burning. His lips parted slightly and she couldn't help but imagine them on her, going through every inch of her body with reckless abandon. If he didn't stop staring at her the way he was she was going to have to join him back in bed. But that wasn't the intention of this particular exercise. She stepped out of the heap of blue on the floor.

"I'll let you know after a long hot shower," she added, then turned her back on him and walked to their bathroom.

"Damn," she heard Harry hiss as she slid the shower door close.

This was immediately followed by the sound of sheets being whipped off the bed in haste. She turned warm water on. Just as the first sprinkle of water fell on her Harry Apparated inside the shower stall. He was as naked as she was.

"Saboteur," he accused, moving closer, his mouth inches from hers, their bodies touching but not quite.

Her eyes gravitated to his lips as she replied, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You'll be begging before this is over," he brushed them lightly against hers, taunting.

"I've never begged for anything in my life."

The last were really empty words of bravado. She reached for the bath sponge behind him. Seeing him, all of him, feeling him so close, most of her was already waving the big white flag of surrender. With the cramped space there was no way she could get to what it was she had been reaching for, which she had already forgotten, unless he moved. From the bemused expression on his face he wasn't going to budge.

He took it instead, the sponge, poured liquid soap onto it and said with naughtiness in his voice, "Please, allow me."

It wasn't like he was asking for permission. With their bodies moist from the warm soft mist of the shower above their heads, he gently coaxed her to turn and face away from him. Then he worked up a lather. It was a pretty good one from what she could feel, a darn good one. He started with her neck, then her shoulders, then down her back, down the side of her legs and up her inner thighs, deliberately slowing as he went through that last part, soft flowing motions, almost featherlike, the forming bubbles slowly but incompletely washing away. The anticipation of what they were about to do fuelled her already monstrous desire.

Then she felt something fall on the tiled floor.

"Um Harry. You dropped the sponge."

She felt him come up against her, causing her to gasp involuntarily. With his big pointy gun behind her she felt the need to stand at attention.

"I believe you're right."

"Are you...picking it up?" she gulped.

He moved even closer, his firm chest and abs gliding smoothly against the suds on her back. She wordlessly prayed for restrain and sanity.

"Would you like me to?"

She thought about it for a moment then said, "No."

He asked another question, "Would you like to?"

That was a no-brainer.

"I think we'll leave it there."

"Interesting choice."

He chuckled, not the least bit disappointed. As she hoped he wasn't done. His large, strong hands came upon her shoulders, gathered suds and tracked slowly down her arms. He then moved up the side of her body and onto her taut breasts, cupping them and gently kneading them, taking her sensitive nipples in between his soapy thumb and fingers. Her hands joined his busy ones, like flies on the back of a horse really just, tagging along for the smooth mind numbing ride. He drew her closer to him, not that she wasn't already gravitating to the pleasant sliding sensation of him and his manliness against her back and the dizzying feel of his two day old stubble brushing against her neck her shoulder. Her ragged breath, bounding pulse and buckling knees said it all.

"God Harry..." she moaned, arching back, offering more of herself to him.

He kissed his way up her neck and nibbled her ear, flicking a purposeful tongue in and around it.

"Just Harry is fine," he whispered in it.

A million tingling goose bumps erupted down her spine. He knew just which buttons to push and he was enjoying this. He didn't stop there either. He worked on the other side of her neck, kissing her more roughly. While his left hand kept her breast company his right hand migrated down past her belly and onto blessed territory where she ached for him the most. His fingers started to do their thing.

"Harry..." she murmured his name again.

"Much better," came his reply, his breathing as uneven as hers.

She was losing it. She wanted to do something. Touch him, kiss him, do him, anything to keep herself from losing it. She reached behind for him but Harry would have none of it. He grabbed her by the wrist and held her hand against the wall in front of them. Then he took her other one, interlaced their fingers and gently guided them back to her sweet centre. With her fingers and his, he stroke her rhythmically, her highly tactile mound of flesh pleading for more. His mouth and tongue were having their way as well, partaking of her bare flesh, now hot and raw. All signs indicated she was so close but she wasn't going to be driven into having a hollow one. It was rarely good for her without him inside her and she always felt guilty coming without him. He was as ready as she was.

"Harry…please..."

He let her go. She spun around and their bodies merged, their mouths clashed against each other, raw, primal, uncivilized.

"It's about bloody time," he growled against her lips.

Crushing her against the wall and pinning her against it, he tugged her hair back to kiss her more deeply. She clutched his wet locks, matching his fiery intensity with her own. Out of breath she broke off from his mouth and began kissing the outline of his jaw, his neck, his throat, the feel of his scruffy beard and the satisfied sounds coming from within him turning her on even more. One of his hands slid down her body and hitched her leg up, opening her up to him. With his other hand now rested firmly in the small of her back, he dove into her with deep, hard, upward thrusts. The room swirled around them. Having him inside her was completeness in itself.

His pace quickened as his own instincts took over. He lifted her in stride and she wrapped her legs around him, giving him deeper access. She let herself go, letting him pleasure her, trusting him, giving herself up wholly to his need for filling for his would in turn fill hers. His every incursion was hitting her sweet spot. Glassy eyed, she looked through the foggy haze and watched the intensity and concentration on his face grow. That was it for her. Involuntary impulses of her orgasm hit through roof, something delightful resonated deep within her and her body shuddered and exploded, indescribable out of this world heavenly bodies appeared and all she could think of doing as she cried out his name was to hang onto him as if her life depended on it. A second or two later she felt him empty himself into her.

He set her down gently, supporting her up somewhat as warm water fell on them, water that was probably there but she just didn't notice before. She held onto him to keep steady for her legs felt like mush. Leaning his forehead against hers and still breathless, he shook his head slightly, a grin on his face.

"What so amusing?" she asked.

"You are going be the death of me," he answered, planting a long kiss on her forehead, "Now, where were we?"

"You were saying today was ‘no sex day’," she reminded him with a smirk.

"Yes, I remember now," he nodded, laughing as he answered back, "And you said you didn't beg."

They called it even. It was a longer shower than planned and it was one o'clock before they had recovered, dressed and eaten. She had decided on what they were going to do today, what was left of it, anyway and was driving his really nice car.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked.

He was on the passenger seat, trying his best not to cringe so much every time a disagreeable sound came from the gear box between them. Her dismal clutching and shifting performance that afternoon was a direct result of her legs temporarily losing neurological connection with the rest of her and he was being good about it. It seemed that she and her feelings were more important than his expensive car. It was kind of a test, unintentional really, that he was passing with flying colours.

"Sutton," she replied.

She saw his concern out of her peripheral vision. He was worried about how fresh her father's death still was and how her memories of her childhood might affect her.

"We don't have to do this right now," he offered; he was kind of sweet.

"I'll be fine," she glanced at him briefly, "Really. I've put it off long enough, don't you think?"

On the other side of the complaining stick shift, Harry sat and listened as Hermione just admitted that she had indeed been skirting around the topic of her childhood. Doing this this soon was a surprise. She had been a surprise all day today starting from sleeping in, then that mini striptease she put on, and then the steamy shower. He swallowed the lump in his throat. The taste and feel of her naked skin still burned in his memory. Showering was never going to be the same again.

Studying her now as she was driving he was worried because she looked a bit peaky. He had seen her looking tired all week; must have been the strain of her new job. She had to change gears again and he involuntarily clenched his jaw.

"Why don't you want to talk about your childhood?" he asked to drown the sound out.

"I just don't. It's really nothing remarkably different from what you knew about it while we were at Hogwarts," she dismissed.

He wondered if she was going to tell him about her sister. He hoped she would. He didn't want to have to ask.

"So why are you telling me now?"

"Because you had a point about it being unfair that I know so much about your childhood when you have a hazy picture of mine."

He sat back and listened to her recap what he already knew, ignoring the pleas of help from his abused car. He was already planning that a future day off would be spent teaching her how to properly use a standard H. The standard H...he chastised his foul mind for wandering off thinking about ideas on how to make a lesson in the art of manual transmission more interesting.

"That's where I was born," she pointed to the humongous Muggle hospital as they drove by, "Six pounds eight ounces, just past those Emergency Room doors. My Mum said she went into labour two weeks early, then less than two hours later there I was, as if I just decided it was time and didn't care if no one was quite ready."

He smiled at how well her Mum put it, noting how that fit with how he had always known her.

She drove past an old church where she and her parents used to attend Sunday mass at, then the gated fortress of South Bridges Primary, where she went to school before Hogwarts. He knew Hermione's family was well off but didn't imagine this.

"You went to a rich kid's school?"

She shrugged, "My Mum always said that a good education was the most important thing they could give me. The teachers were great; my classmates were pompous arrogant assholes."

"That explains why you didn't have friends."

"My parents could afford the school but we weren’t rich, not rich like most of the kids there. Many didn't like me because I got way better scores than they did and I wasn't really one of them. That and I was an annoying know-it-all, right?"

"I can’t answer that."

"You're supposed to say if you were so annoying I wouldn't have been friends with you."

"Am I? How about if I say you were misunderstood and they just didn't see the better side of you."

"Which is?"

"The caring, loyal and fiercely protective friend that you can be."

"Right, you and Ron saw that," she snorted with scepticism.

"We were stupid teenage boys so it took us a while," he defended themselves; "We were lucky you didn't take that against us and stuck around."

"I didn't have much choice. It was either hanging out with you and Ron or spending time with Parvati and Lavender," she chortled, "Can you imagine me hanging out with those two?"

He chuckled as an image of a teenage her giggling and talking about boys, make-up, and more boys came to mind. He noticed that she slowed and parked in front of a twenty storey building on a very busy street, an obvious prime business location.

"That's where my Mum and Dad first set up their private practice. They built it from scratch right after graduation," she told him, "My parents worked very hard. I remember spending a lot of my childhood in there, using my Mum's desk doing homework after school, waiting for them to finish with patients. It was our routine. My Mum typically finished earlier, around five. We'd go home and she'd make dinner. Dad would get home around seven. It was a very good practice until they sold it when I was ten and set up a smaller one on the other side of town."

She grimaced slightly as she said that and drove away. They continued to drive around while she pointed out places of significance in her childhood; the old Granger house and their neighbours, the nearby libraries she frequented, the playground that was the place where she first accidentally used magic

"Stella Holden," she said as if it was some name she would never forget, "I was six. She was the neighbourhood bully. She pushed me off that swing because she couldn't wait her turn. I got so mad she ended up neck deep in the playground sand."

"You found out when you were six?"

"Well no. There was nothing else for a while and my parents figured it was some freak windstorm that got Stella," she found that amusing, "Like yours mine kind of happened when I was really upset."

She drove off and told him stories about her other instances of unintentional magic pre-Hogwarts. Quite funny were the reasons she, her parents and her teachers came up with to explain them.

"In the beginning they were subtle, few and so far in between. I wasn't upset enough much and my Mum and Dad were wonderful parents."

"So when did your magic become obvious?"

"When my sister was born."

She didn't say anything after that, as if she had nothing else to say. Silence filled the air until he found his voice and spoke.

"Patricia," he said her name and he explained to her how he knew, "I saw her grave next to your Dad's."

She nodded, not taking her eyes off the road. He could tell this was difficult for her.

"When I was about eight my Mum and Dad had a rough patch in their marriage. My Dad had an affair with one of the other partners. Patricia was my half sister. It was a very disruptive time."

Harry was flabbergasted and speechless. He couldn't get past thinking how perfect he had always pictured her parents' marriage to be. It was hard to see her dad having an affair. She continued in an almost emotionless and detached tone, as if she was telling a story about someone else and someone else's family.

"The affair didn't last long. My Mum and Dad made up and we, well they, welcomed Patricia into the family. My Dad and her Mum shared custody," she explained.

"Must have been hard on your Mum," he commented, now with added admiration for the woman who raised her.

"I didn't notice but looking back on my memories about it I could see that it was," she answered, "She doesn't talk much about that time. My Dad did tell me she lost a bit of herself doing that."

"How could she take him back?"

"I don't know,” she shrugged, “I keep meaning to ask her but it hasn’t really come up in a conversation. I suspect it was because she loved him and he asked her. I think maybe she did it for me too. She grew up without a father and my Dad was a good one. Of course, after knowing what he did I lost a bit of respect for him. Took a while for me to accept my Mum's thinking that he made a mistake and that didn't make him a horrible person. So I kind of took it out on my sister. I called her my part time sister. I was nine and went from centre of attention to not. I was jealous. I resented Trisha's existence."

She had a disgusted look on her face, as tears began falling. She pulled over and he took her hand in his.

"You were young," he peered in to catch her attention, "Sibling jealousy is not that uncommon."

"I know," she sniffled then faced him, "It was the first time I had to deal with that ugly side of me. On my tenth birthday I wished her dead, Harry. And she died. She was only a baby. She didn't deserve that from me. What was I thinking?”

Her face scrounged up and she broke down. He reached over, pulled her in an embrace, stroke her hair and let her cry it out. He could understand why she didn't want that this detail about her childhood become common knowledge, particularly not when she was having a hard enough time fitting in when she first came to Hogwarts.

After some time she pulled away and he took her hand again.

"You don't really think your wish was the reason she died, do you?"

"At first I did," she admitted, taking the hanky he conjured for her, "This happened as all the magic started becoming more obvious. I felt like a freak. Professor Dumbledore paid us a visit and explained everything, including the part that magical or Muggle, while definitely something not to be encouraged, no amount of wishful thinking could kill. It was a long time ago Harry. I just get upset thinking about it so I never told anyone."

He nodded.

“How did she die?"

She drew a deep breath in and answered, “She and her Mum were waiting on the underground platform and her Mum slipped just as a train was coming in. Trisha was in her arms. It was reported as an accident.”

The way she said it he sensed it wasn’t. He waited for her to elaborate.

“When my Dad decided to stay with us her Mum kind of lost it,” she added, “I found this out years later from him. She couldn't accept his decision and she couldn't stand the gossip. There was a lot of talk, vile ones about her. She told my Dad in a letter that she didn't want that life for her daughter and that she would do what she did if he didn’t leave us. He read the letter too late and wasn’t able to stop her. She was apparently a good person to begin with but she became quite vengeful in the end."

That was putting it kindly. As far as Harry was concerned the woman was mean. What mother would do that to her child? And Hermione left out the part about the accident happening on her birthday. Somehow he was certain that wasn't a coincidence.

"I'm so sorry," he squeezed her hand tightly; he didn't know what to say, "I know that was hard. Thank you for telling me."

"You're not freaked out?"

"That you have skeletons in the family closet?"

"There’s that and that I have this hideous side of me."

"Don’t we all?”

Hermione seemed more relaxed after that. She drove them up to one of her favourite local places called Lookout Point that was just outside Sutton and had this magnificent view of the cityscape. They spent the remainder of the afternoon there sitting on the hood of his car talking about their favourite and not so favourite childhood memories. And later, with the sun setting over the horizon she leaned against him and he held her in his arms. He could feel her heart beating as calmly as his own as they watched the beautiful scene before them unfold in silence. He was at peace.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. The next one in almost done and will start with Dean and Hermione.

33. Fear

A/N. Thanks for the feedback. I was looking for a reason why Hermione wouldn’t tell Harry about Hugo and it had to be a very personal one. Once again I’ve taken liberties with her family and past so that would make more sense. I am surprised though that only one reviewer picked up that one tiny hint about Hermione in the last chapter. I must have done such a poor job of it.

Now, more of Hermione as she tries to sort out this Harry-Ginny thing. Dean helps her in his own way. Ginny makes a cameo in this one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 33 – Fear

"The whole thing makes less sense than tits on a bull," Dean said to Hermione after Seamus went off to tend on the other side of the bar.

It was about nine, they had just had dinner and Jessie left with Harry for work. Her partner had been pestering her about the 'whole thing' every chance he got since she gave him the long version of the story a few days ago. In truth she was avoiding more conversations about it, for as much as she was ecstatic Dean knew about her and Harry's little secret, she didn't like the feeling of being pressured into coming out into the open with it.

"Tits on a bull?"

"Don't distract me," he chastised, quite aware of what she was trying to do, "Seriously, what are you planning on doing? Be a couple in secret forever? Start bringing in fake boyfriends and girlfriends? Don't you think we're all going to eventually clue in and find out?"

"We'll tell everyone. We just haven't set a firm date yet," she replied vaguely, thinking maybe Harry should know this was the plan.

"The date is long past due," Dean snapped, "It's been more than three months. I take it it's still going strong?"

"I think so."

"Feel great?"

"Uh-huh."

"Feel right?"

"Most days."

"So, let me get this straight. First you weren't sure he was serious or that it would last and you thought it wasn't worth it to hurt his ex-girlfriend and your Dad, which I still don't get, by the way. There was also the Ministry policy against it. Despite all that you ask him to move in with you, which he agrees to, and so you figure that perhaps he is indeed serious about what you guys have gotten yourself into, duh, but then you’re not sure sometimes because he seems content about this ‘secret’ propagating itself and hasn’t asked you about it again since trying to talk you out of doing it. And while technically you're no longer violating some archaic Ministry rule, all this time you've been feeling guilty about betraying his ex, feeling bad about not fulfilling your Dad's dying wish to break up with him and lying to all your friends about it. But you're happy. Does that sum it all up?”

“Pretty much.”

"You are mental," he pointed out the obvious, "So what's really holding you back?"

"I think it's because I can't face her once she finds out."

"Why not?"

"She'll be hurt, angry, and it'll be justified."

"So what?"

"I don't want her hurt or angry and I'll feel like this hideous person that I really am."

"Your sleeping with him doesn't make you a bad person but I must say keeping this secret from her makes you a horrible friend. Nevertheless, it doesn't matter what you want. She'll eventually find out."

"I was hoping she'd find someone else before I had to tell her and she'd be happy by now," she was still hoping.

"Well she hasn't and I think you're underestimating Ginny’s ability to understand."

“No names,” she reminded him.

It was late and they were far from the rest of the crowd but were still in a public place. She did an Impertubatus spell just in case.

“Sorry,” he apologized. “Why is her happiness so important to you that you would forsake your own so you won’t hurt her precious feelings?”

“She wants him back, Dean."

"How do you know this?"

"I just know, okay?"

He took her word for it, "If she wants him back then tough shit. She had her chance. She blew it when she broke up with him. He's moved on."

Hermione made a face which Dean caught a sight of.

"You don't think he's moved on?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

"You're living together and you're not sure?"

She winched at his good logic. When he put it that way it did seem like she should be more certain.

"It's so bloody clear what your problem is."

"You mean aside from being a traitorous friend?"

"Uh-huh," Dean replied non-judgmentally, one of the things she loved about him.

"What?"

"You're an insecure girlfriend," he blatantly put it. "You're afraid to lose him."

"I am not," she denied it like it was the craziest theory she had ever heard.

But Dean stood his ground, "Think about it. Your reasons for keeping it secret may have been there in the beginning but they aren't there anymore. Now you're just afraid. You're afraid that she'll tell him she wants him back and he'll say yes. You're hiding behind this bubble of secrecy you've fashioned, making her an excuse when you know there is no way to prevent her from getting hurt, so he wouldn't have to choose because you can't risk losing him."

The more she considered it the more she thought his claim had merit. It upset her. How did she get from having nothing to lose three months ago to having so much now and being afraid to lose it all? It was ridiculous, immature, cowardly...

She groaned, buried her face in her hands and muttered to herself, "I'm about to fuck this up."

Dean leaned in closer and tried to make her feel better.

"No you're not. You're just thinking too much. You need him to put your mind at ease. Ask him if he wants her back."

"I can't ask him that," she said to Dean like he had two heads.

"Why not?" Dean seemed totally oblivious to the obvious.

"Because he'll say he doesn't."

"But that's good, isn't it?" he was more perplexed.

"Not if he really wants her back," she reasoned, "I don't want him to stay with me just because he doesn’t want to hurt me and it's the noble thing to do."

"What makes you think he'll choose you only because it's the noble thing to do?"

"Because he chose her first; because he loved her first."

Dean quickly corrected her, "That doesn't mean anything."

"It shouldn't but it kind of does," Hermione replied, now feeling warm on the face as words flowed from her mouth unedited, "I've known him for what, over half my life now? I've spent much of that time with him and not once, not once did he look at me this way..."

Dean interrupted, "You might want to breathe a bit there."

She ranted on, "You've seen him and her together. They were this perfect couple and we all thought they were going to get married. Then she breaks up with him for some stupid reason and now he's with me. I'm his rebound girl."

"So, fucking what?"

"I'm only with him because the one he wants tells him she doesn't want him anymore," she hurt herself saying that, “Only she wants him back.”

Dean continued to have a reasonable answer for her every point, "You don't know that for a fact. How do you know that he wants her and not you?"

"Because I know he told her he loves her many times and he hasn't said anything about loving me."

That surprised Dean; it shocked her. The truth finally came out; the root of her insecurity. She didn't know if he loved her. She thought and she hoped he did, but she didn't really know.

After some time, Dean said quietly, "Then ask him"

"I can't do that."

He rolled his eyes, "I know what you're going to say, that he might say he loves you even if he doesn't mean it."

Finally he was starting to get it.

“He might also mean it,” he suggested.

She expounded, "I don't want to have to ask. I want it to come from him."

"What good is that if you won't believe him anyway? Have you told him how you feel?"

"No, because I don't want to pressure him into feeling the same way."

"This is maddening. Thank goodness I'm not a woman!" Dean declared in exasperation, "Let me channel Luna here. You can't force people to feel something out of nothing. And, if it's meant to be, it will happen even if you mean for it to be something else."

She blushed, hating that she had to tell Dean the truth about how she felt about Lunaspeak, "I never could figure Luna out."

"Okay, let me try someone else," he changed his tone to one more firm and direct, "Stop fooling around with a good thing. Life's too short. You've known him for a long time and he's a good guy. Witches would kill to have what you have. And really, now's the perfect time to do it because I'm so busy being famous I won't know what hit me."

"That's not funny."

"Do you see me laughing? But it makes the most sense. Look, I know she's your best friend and she may want him back as you said but maybe she'll be okay with it. If she really is your friend she'll be happy for you."

"I know she'll be happy for us but that doesn't mean she won't get hurt," she replied.

"I don't see any other way to prevent that, do you?" he raised another good point she had no rebuttal for and when she didn't answer she heard him sigh, "Bear with me here. I'm not a woman, I don't think like a woman and I can't pretend to think like one. Her you can't do much about, she'll find out one way or another. She’s a big girl and she can take care of herself. But you should have the honest conversation with him. Give him the chance to do the right thing."

Then she let her most desperate thoughts out for Dean to hear, "I know what I feel about him but how do I know how he feels about me? Even if I ask him and he tells me he loves me, how do I really know?"

"You don't 'really know'. There is no knowing," Dean said what she already knew. 'No knowing' was an answer she didn't like. He continued, "You just feel and you trust. You don't have reason to second guess whatever he'll say he feels about you, do you? And if for some strange reason he decides he wants his ex- back instead of staying with you then he'll be making a big mistake. I'll have to hex him for being such a stupid ass but you can't keep him and this hidden forever. If you're not meant to be with each other it may hurt like hell but nothing you do will keep you together."

And maybe for the first time in her life she truly got tempted to believe in fate. She could imagine how believing that there were things that were just 'meant' or 'not meant' to be could bring about relief that there was a higher power above her determining what was best and removing the burden of control from her. It would also mean that no matter how poorly she decided, if they were meant to be, they would end up together.

However, she couldn't get past destiny trivializing all the hard choices she and everyone else made everyday. For her, the existence of a predetermined outcome would make choosing to do the right thing meaningless and existence pointless. That reminded her why she didn't, couldn't, believe in fate. Fate was a cop out; it was just something to make one feel better at the end of the day when things didn't work out as planned.

But Dean was right too. There were things that were beyond her control. She couldn't do anything about Ginny getting hurt and she couldn't do anything about how Harry truly felt about her. Recognizing this now it was easier to let go, not to leave the outcomes up to fate but to let Ginny and Harry determine them, to trust that they would choose well.

Hermione had to face losing her fear of losing him. Maybe he did love her back the way she loved him but if he didn't then she'd have her moments with him to cherish forever. That wasn't such a bad thing. And how easily did she forget that this was her exact thought when he proposed all this that night at the pond?

Dean said it. She could not keep it to herself forever, even if Harry was allowing her to do so. She had to set whatever this beautiful and overwhelming thing that was between them free and let the elements test how steadfast it was; how real.

She downed the remainder of her drink, set her glass down and nodded over to Dean to let him know she got it and that she appreciated the bitter pill he was making her take. Then they were interrupted by Seamus making an announcement.

"Gather up, everyone!"

He flipped on the telly that was temporarily perched at the centre of the bar and adjusted the dial until it focussed on the BBC Magical London channel. Sportscore was on. It was some daily sports show she had seen Harry watch sometimes with highlights of games played that day.

"Ginny's getting interviewed!" Seamus said excitedly.

True enough there she was, seated confidently across from the show's host, smiling demurely. Hermione could tell she was nervous by the way she intermittently tucked her flowing red hair behind her ear even when she didn't have to but that would have gone unnoticed by the rest of those watching.

"She looks positively radiant," someone said from the gathered crowd.

"She's even more beautiful than she was before," some bloke added.

Dean disagreed, "Nah. That's just all lights and make-up."

It was and it wasn't. Her partner was obviously trying to prop up her diminishing confidence, quite unsuccessfully. Ginny looked amazing on the screen and it wasn't so much about how she looked, it was how she carried herself. She last saw Ginny in person just before her dad died about a month ago. When her popularity took off after that first game, her handlers pounced on the opportunity and Ginny got a make-over. Physically there was not a lot to change but to sell the sport and to get people more interested they worked on her public image such that little girls would want to be like her and boys and men would want to watch her and the Harpies play.

"Ten games since you started, ten wins for the Harpies; you're averaging a hundred and seventy points a game. What does this all mean to you?" the host asked.

"I don't think words can describe it," Ginny answered, just as she would if she were talking to them and not to millions of viewers, "This is all wonderful. It's a dream come true."

"Many are already speculating Rookie of the Year. Some say MVP."

The Finnigan crowd cheered.

Ginny blushed, and dismissed the remark, "No, please. That's a bit premature. It's only been ten games. There are other great players out there who have done much more for their teams than I have."

"How do you do it? Every minute you're flying you play with such focussed intensity. What inspires you to play the way you do? Who inspires you?"

She shrugged, "A lot of it is really the people I play with. Being the new kid on the block my teammates have been so supportive and we do push each other to play as best we can. I just play hard."

That wasn't quite the answer the host was hoping for.

"Now, most of our viewers know you as Harry Potter's former girlfriend. Now that you've come into your own, what does Harry say about that?"

The mention of his name caught her off guard. Hermione felt like someone just slapped her across the face.

"He's happy for me."

"You've remained close all this time?"

"We're friends."

"Any chance he'll come to a game sometime and watch you play live?" the suggestive tone made Hermione grit her teeth.

Ginny laughed naturally, "I'm afraid you're going to have to ask him that question."

"No truth to the rumours he actually sneaks into the pitch disguised as someone else?" the host asked her teasingly.

Her friend chuckled, "That's absurd. We really should talk about something else."

The host was pushy, "Holyhead is playing London in a few days. Is it true that you've been receiving death threats from Flamer fanatics who want you to sit the game out and that Harry Potter has volunteered to personally protect you for the duration of your London stay?"

"No and most definitely no. Where does all the rubbish come from?" Ginny dismissed them good naturedly, though Hermione noticed the annoyance behind her tone, "I played on the London farm team. London fans are knowledgeable and they love a good challenge. Whoever started that rumour is unfair to paint them in such a negative light. I'm excited to play in front of them."

"You miss London?"

"London, the fans, my old teammates, my co-workers at the Prophet, my family and my friends," she listed, meaning that she did miss them, "And I can't wait to go home and have drinks at this lovely bar in Diagon Alley called Finnigan's."

"Finnigan's. I'll be sure to check that out. Thanks for coming by today," the host said, ending the interview.

"Thanks for inviting me," Ginny replied, shaking the host's hand.

Seamus shut the telly off, still beaming from Ginny's mention of Finnigan's as the crowd hooted and howled in approval. Hermione was proud of Ginny not only for how she handled herself in the interview but how she steered the conversation to talk about what mattered more to her while the host had an obviously different agenda.

Watching that she realized just how popular Ginny had become. Hermione didn't anticipate her past relationship with Harry being dragged into the limelight with her. She wondered if Harry did. Was that why he didn't watch Ginny's games?

Dean nudged her, "I'm telling you nothing can bring her down from the high she's in now. It'll be perfect timing."

If he said 'perfect timing' one more time she would have to tell him off.

They left Finnigan's around eleven but instead of going home she dropped by the Ministry to look into these alleged death threats. It turned out that the threats did exist and that the Harpies and the Flamers were taking it seriously. The teams had approached the Ministry to look into it and it was seen fit to get Aurors on the case.

It was no surprise to her that it was assigned to Harry but that didn't stop a hollow pit from growing in her gut as she saw his name on the file. The case had been opened yesterday and the fact that he didn't mention anything to her was unsettling.

It deflated her considerably and she fought off tears on her way home. She kept on telling herself he must have just forgotten, that he meant to tell her. She would ask him in the morning; this was a small thing and wasn't worth a phone call.

She tossed and turned in bed, ignoring her insecurities, scolding herself for being so emotional. Finally falling asleep past one, she dreamt very unpleasant dreams of Ginny and Harry getting back together. He woke her up inadvertently as he got into bed.

"Go back to sleep," he whispered as he kissed her in the dark, slipping under the covers next to her, holding her in his arms.

She faced him and asked, "What time is it?"

"Four, way too early to get up," he answered, "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," she felt like she was choking.

Harry turned on the lamp on the bedside table and brushed off wetness from her cheeks.

"Tell me."

"It's so stupid really. I feel bad enough thinking it. I'm going to hate myself if I ask it," she was scolding herself for being so weak about this.

"I want to know," he encouraged her, his voice very patient as he gazed down upon her.

She gathered up her courage and asked, "Why didn't you tell me Ginny was receiving death threats?"

He sighed, tucked a stray strand of her brown hair behind her ear, "Because if I did I'd have to tell you that I volunteered to look into it and I didn't want you to feel bad."

His honesty begat honesty. She fought off the stupid tears coming from stupid envy and stupid, useless jealousy.

"I feel bad."

"I'm sorry," she heard him say, his words laced with remorse, "It was something I had to do."

"I understand."

She did. Having someone else take the case was not an option for him. He had to be the one to look into it. It was the way he was and she accepted that.

Out of the blue, seemingly attuned to her fears, he gave her reassurance, "I'm not leaving you. Not for her, not for anyone else."

"Okay."

"I'm here for as long as you want me here."

"Okay," she repeated, believing that he believed his words to be true, "Next time, just tell me, even if you know it'll hurt me, okay?"

"Okay," he whispered back, planting another kiss on her forehead and drawing her into his arms.

"Did you find anything?" she asked, her head resting on his chest as he turned the lights down.

"No. Ginny thinks it’s a publicity ploy by the teams to drum up more interest about the game," he replied harshly. "She's quite pissed."

"But you are treating it like it's real, right?"

"We’re not taking any chances," then he added, "She'll be in London next week. I want to tell her about us."

She had already thought about this, "After the game. I'll do it after the game."

"I want to be there with you when you do. We should do this together."

"Okay."

That settled, she felt him sigh and his tone became more relaxed.

He laid out the plan, "Then we'll call Ron and your Mum. Then we'll snog at Finnigan’s so everyone else will know."

She laughed and looked up at the outline of his face, "Harry..."

He had a smile, "What? It's either that or I'll go on national telly, jump on someone's couch like a freak and tell the world how I feel about you."

"Fine, Finnigan's it is then."

"I thought so."

He leaned closer and kissed her mouth tenderly, making her all emotional again.

Merlin, what the hell was wrong with her?

He embraced her and made her feel much better. She slept in his arms as always. When she woke up the next day she felt like she had a load off. He woke up briefly when she got out of bed but went back to sleep when she left for work.

That afternoon she and Dean were watching Borgin and Burkes. It was a rare day when Caractakus Burkes was manning the store. Borgin was apparently visiting family somewhere up north and Hermione had a couple members of their team trail him. She wanted to go but Dean convinced her to stay and send someone else. She had been feeling kind of off lately and she blamed the bug that was going around the office that week.

"You should go home," Dean said to her as he took over listening into what Burkes was doing in the shop.

"I'm fine," she responded, closing her eyes and willing her tiredness away.

Not half an hour later Dean nudged her and detached the headphones so she could hear what he was hearing. Burkes' impatient tone came over the speakers.

"The markings are all different. They’re not even close."

"If you had pictures..." the other man defended himself but Burkes cut him off.

"All I hear from you are excuses. I pay you a lot of money to find the Peverell jewels and you keep on giving me garbage," Burkes chastised, "We don't have the luxury of his patience."

The Peverell jewels?

"Look," Dean pointed at the magical imprint recognizer monitor in front of them, "It's Dodgey's magical signature or someone very close to his."

"Visual?"

"No, he slipped past the alley surveillance cameras."

"We need confirmation," she told him.

"I'll go," Dean volunteered but she made an executive decision.

She knew the stolen items better than he did and was better at stealth. She put the comm bud into her ear and listened as she transfigured herself and then made her way to the store in the guise of an interested shopper.

"Let me talk to him," the other man replied.

"He only talks to people he wants to talk with; you know this," the owner spat out, "Now get out of here before someone sees you."

"Can you at least give me something for those?"

"For these? The locket is made of fake Goblin gold, the stone on that brooch is cheap black diamond and the cloak I can get from a toy store," scoffed Burkes.

"You know that’s not true," the other man's voice answered, "I'll take them next door if you don't want them."

"Seventy-five galleons," Burkes offered.

"I'm not parting with them for less than two hundred."

The storeowner began complaining, telling the other man how it was hard to sell something that was hot. That was a confirmation of sorts but they weren't going to make a public arrest unless it was Dodgey or someone of interest. They couldn't waste their only lead on a nobody.

She quickened her pace, needing to be in there before the suspect left the store. The moment she walked in Burkes and the other man turned in her direction. It was Dodgey.

Burkes called out, "I'll be right with you, honey."

"I'll wait," she replied, a signal to Dean that they found their man and that she would stand down until he came so they could make the arrest together.

In the background she heard Dean make the necessary calls but Dodgey became fidgety. She caught him glancing her way more than once. Then their eyes met and she saw a flash of recognition in them.

"He made me," she announced to Dean as she reached for her weapon the same time Dodgey had.

A flash of red light emanated from somewhere near her mark. She ducked and the curse flew past her head, smashing the Egyptian mummy case on display behind her.

Collaportus!

She fired an exit blocking charm at the door he was heading for, making him go the opposite way. Dean, who was just outside and now couldn't get in, swore.

"Sorry. Back door," she told him through their comm device, continuing to avoid and block hexes from Dodgey, at the same time forcing him back on his heels to use the less populated exit where Dean would hopefully be waiting for him.

Crash!

Glass splintered behind her, making her swear. That one narrowly missed her. She had underestimated Dodgey's combat skills and if not for the anti-Disapparition charm Borgin and Burkes was equipped with he would have been long gone. He parried each and every restraint she threw at him, annoying her of the lack of intel on him. Nothing on his file suggested that he would be a difficult arrest. Had she known she would have waited for back-up before coming in.

Dodgey just slipped past a cowering Burkes beyond the counter and out to the back office and exit. Instantly hearing him engage Dean in a wand fight, she hurriedly made her way to join the fray.

Stupefy!

Protego!

Expelliarmus!

They were moving too fast, at least Dodgey was. At one point she almost got hit by friendly fire. Then, just as they heard more Aurors and MLE Apparating outside Knockturn Alley, Dodgey hit Dean with a green spell that propelled her partner up and back, demolishing the back window, exposing the footpath behind the store.

The sight of Dean motionless momentarily froze her.

"Dean!" she called out, almost in panic.

Her partner groaned and stirred, and as relief washed over her, she met Dodgey's pissed off stare. He ran for the path, sidestepping another Stunner from her. Without hesitation she moved swiftly towards the same exit, pounced on him and was able to grab him just as he Disapparated, taking her with him.

Craaackkk!!!

Pop!!!

A split second later they crashed back onto solid ground, the impact jarring them both and causing them to lose their wands. He had taken them to some remote field with tall wild grass all around them. She was first up on her feet and she swung her foot hard into his midsection as he was on his fours trying to get up.

“Umph!”

He grunted and swore at her. She tried to do it again but he was ready the second time, catching her foot and twisting it. Letting her body go with the motion, she twirled mid air and on her way down caught his jaw squarely with her trailing foot. Dean taught her how to do that.

A satisfying crunching sound echoed through the air and she took the opportunity to free up her holstered spare wand. He was quick too. He lunged, crashed hard against her with his shoulder and knocked her off her feet, making her lose her wand again.

"Enough of this!" he screamed in her face, his hands holding her wrists down above her head, his weight pinning her body to the ground.

"But we just got started," she spat back.

With a release move she freed up her right wrist and tried to punch him but he quickly restrained her again, more agitated than he was before.

"Don't make me hit you!" he warned, as if he really thought that would scare her.

She brought her forehead forcibly against his face, making him swear again as she drew blood, mostly his. His grip loosened and he got off her, holding his hands up his mouth, his eyes watering from the pain. She made a fist and was about to swing at him again when he held one arm up.

"I said that's enough!" he yelled out, in a familiar voice, "It's me."

"Who...?"

Before she could finish the question the man who was looked like Dodgey transformed right before her eyes. It was Warren Gates.

XXXXXXXXXXX

34. An Obvious Symbolic Connection

A/N. Sorry this took so long – I got confused and had to go back to DH 101.

I kind of stumbled upon this obvious Hallows connection that maybe a few of JKR’s characters, particularly Mr. Lovegood and those who knew of the triangular Hallows symbol, should have realized sooner. It’s likely many of you spotted it already way before I did. Or maybe JKR’s Mr. Lovegood did think about it but never really wanted the Hallows.

If you find plot holes do let me know. I rely on you guys to keep me honest!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 34 – An Obvious Symbolic Connection

Pop!

Harry appeared right beside the familiar trap door, arriving inside the run-down Shrieking Shack as soon as he got Hermione's urgent but cryptic message. Loud voices immediately caught his attention.

"Untie me!" a man's voice, oddly familiar, yelled from somewhere on the upper floor.

"Shut up!" Hermione bellowed back and he could hear her pace across the squeaking floorboards above.

"If you don't untie me right this moment, I will have your wand...!"

"Oh shut it!"

Harry had responded to the call for back-up at Knockturn Alley and got a sketchy picture of the events from a still hurting but conscious Dean before getting the call from Hermione. What the hell was going on?!

He called out to her, ran up the wooden stairs two rungs at a time and when he got to the door could not believe the sight before him. The familiar voice belonged to Warren Gates. Warren was in the middle of the room, as pissed as Harry had ever seen him, a mix of fresh and dried blood on his face, hands and legs restrained by magical ropes. Hermione looked up and as soon as he saw the gash on her forehead, he immediately jumped to a disturbing conclusion. His thoughts darkened and Hermione must have recognized what it was for she immediately ushered him out the room even before he could draw his wand out, leaving a gagged and bound Warren livid as not only could he not move, he could not speak.

"Did he hurt you?!" he demanded from her, the sight of her non-serious injury tempering his urge to curse Warren.

“I'm fine,” she reassured him.

“What happened?! Where's Dodgey? What is Warren doing here and why is he in restraints?” he fired off in succession.

“I'm not sure that's Gates,” she told him seriously.

His mind slowed down enough to get what she was saying.

“What makes you think it’s not him?”

“Dean and I were surveilling Borgin and Burkes when Dodgey’s signature came up on the MIR. I went in and verified visually but he made me and eluded arrest. He almost took my head off trying to escape and hexed Dean badly,” she recapped, “He transformed wandless right before my eyes. The MIR can’t lie. It’s has to be Dodgey only we never knew he was a Metamorphmagus.”

He had to let her kniow.

“Warren is a Biomorphmagus.”

“What?”

“He's a Biomorph. He’s able to..."

She cut him off, "I know what a Biomorph is. But Biomorphmagy is science fiction. No one has ever proven the ability to transform oneself to an almost exact physical and biological duplicate of another person. The only way to do prove that is to examine DNA before and after conversion."

"And Warren hates giving tissue samples; kind of a pet peeve of his," he replied, "His condition is supposed to be top secret. He's gotten quite good at it too. He doesn't need a lot to transform himself into someone else."

“Okay,” she was still unconvinced, “But even if Gates is a Biomorph that doesn’t prove that the guy in there is him. He could still be Dodgey and maybe Dodgey can also morph. How would we know? DNA analysis can take a while.”

Harry weighed her words for a second then replied, “Let me talk to him but before I do that, why did you bring him here? Why not straight to the Ministry?"

"A couple of reasons," Hermione answered vaguely then asked, "How much did Gates know about the Hallows?"

Harry shrugged, "Why do you ask?"

She seemed unkeen to answer that question too.

"From the Park-Gaunt case he knew of the Resurrection stone and its connection with the Peverells. But did he or Park or anyone else know about the two other Hallows and that they actually existed?"

He shook his head, “I don't think so. The last time around the Canadians figured Park was merely obsessed about raising the dead and happened to hear about the Peverell stone. Warren didn't care whether or not it existed; we just used the fact that Park believed in it to try and draw him out. We never discussed the other two. And I didn't tell him anything because I didn't need to."

"But that doesn't mean Gates doesn't know," she concluded with a deep frown on her face, as if she didn't get the answer she wanted.

"Why are you asking?"

"Whoever that guy in there is I think he and Burkes are looking for all the Hallows."

He tried to calm her down, "Hermione, many people are looking for the Hallows."

"I have a feeling that this is different," she replied anxiously.

Hermione turned away and walked into the room. He followed her, guessing that it was her reason for not taking the suspect directly to the Ministry. The subject of the Hallows was a sensitive one. It was one of those cases that could potentially set off an undesirable series of events. Hermione wanted to find out what this was about before an official interrogation just in case it was something that had to be investigated quietly, like that last one.

When they got in the frustrated man who looked very much like Warren began yapping his mouth off soundlessly. Harry picked up a few choice words directed mostly at an impervious Hermione, words which one didn't need to be a lipreader to understand. Her non-reaction riled him up even some more

"Ungag him," he said to her.

"I was so enjoying the peace and quiet," she commented, but did as he asked anyway.

"Release me!"

"Who are you?" Hermione demanded.

"I told you who I am! Release me now or I'll make sure you won't ever work in law enforcement again!"

"Ooh, I'm so scared," Hermione mocked him, folding her arms across her chest, "The MIR says you're Dodgey, I have no reason to think otherwise."

"Harry, tell her who I am! Tell her what I am!"

"I did but it's not good enough for her," he answered, "She needs more proof."

"Fuck proof! You know me!" the wizard was yelling so loudly his voice broke as he spoke, "Why are you letting some fucking broad think for you? You're a man, be the man!"

"It's definitely him," Harry confirmed.

"Undoubtedly," Hermione agreed, the disgust on her face plain as she took the magical cuffs off, handed Warren his wand and confronted him, "Where's my suspect?"

"I want an apology!"

"You're not getting one; live with it. Where's Dodgey?" she repeated.

"You hexed me!"

"You hexed my partner."

"It's not my fault he's too slow to avoid a simple spell!"

"Touche."

"Let it go, Warren," Harry advised.

But with them it was like trying to get bickering kids off each other and it once again brought back memories of what it was like trying to referee between Hermione and Ron. When they weren’t done, they weren’t done. He disliked seeing her like this, seeing her this passionately riled up by another man more so now than ever before and he knew exactly where his feeling was coming from.

Warren carried on, "You held me against my will even after I identified myself!"

"I guess after what you did to Dean I should have just taken your word for it!"

"If you thought I was lying then why didn't you take me straight to the Ministry?"

"Because I figured that if I was wrong and you were indeed who you were you were probably trying to get away so you wouldn't blow your cover. Arresting you and taking you straight to the Ministry would have done exactly that. You should thank me," Hermione explained, seemingly earnest about that too, "I was doing you a favor."

Warren was stumped, a mix of disbelief and awe on his face.

Harry consoled him, "And that's why I like her thinking for me. What's going on? Why are you back?"

"A case," he said cagily, wiping off his bloody lip on a sleeve and spat out what was inside his mouth.

She grunted, "Park escaped again, didn't he?"

Warren didn't have to answer. His annoyed expression that Hermione got it right again said it all.

"This is above me. I have no authority to speak about the matter."

Hermione played hardball, "Fine, we'll talk with Burkes. Just give me my suspect back and we'll pretend we never saw you."

"Honey," Warren said in his most condescending tone, "You know only too well that Burkes' counsels will make it nearly impossible for your investigators to get anywhere near him. And I need your suspect."

"You can't have my suspect. That should teach you to ask nicely the next time."

"You're not getting him back until I get mine."

"Then I guess I'll have to lock you up," Hermione said without emotion, "Dodgey is a wanted Briton. Under International Crime laws Canada has no right to incarcerate him without informing his home country who then reserves the right to waive or not waive his extradition and right now, we are so 'not waiving.'"

"He has information that can lead to the arrest of a wanted Dark Wizard," Warren rebutted, "Dark wizard turfs petty artefact thief."

"That may be true but she's right, Warren," Harry decided Warren was on the level and tried to smoothen the process. "You should have let us know."

"I'm telling you it's not up to me," Warren was trying to make them understand.

Hermione remained unsympathetic, "Hard to believe that you would actually follow rules but that's unfortunate. We have no choice but to bring you in. Too bad about your cover."

"No, wait," Warren backed off, his eyes darting between him and Hermione then back, "I trust you but can I trust her?"

"You can trust her with your life," he declared.

"Let's not get carried away here," Hermione corrected sharply, "What does Dodgey have to do with Park?"

"Off the record," Warren proposed and waited for their replies.

He nodded and she nodded. Harry noted the gravity of Warren's expression as he began telling them why he was back.

"Park's name is now Morpheus Gaunt. The second he got to Toronto he applied for a legal name change. He said he wanted to make his family proud, carry on the ancestral tradition of death and violence," Warren found it somewhat pathetic, "He claimed he had proof that he was truly Morfin Gaunt's grandson and that Uncle Tom was his hero."

Voldemort worship was not new.

"Where does Dodgey fit in to this?" Harry repeated.

"When Gaunt escaped a couple of weeks ago we went back to his last known contacts and associates. One person we wanted to interview was the old geezer who got him into the Peverell Resurrection Stone myth, a Torontonian by the name of Theodorphus Daniels."

He and Hermione exchanged a brief knowing look. She too remembered Daniels on the picture on Jollyweather's wall, the one with Luna's dad on it, the one with the triangular symbol of the Hallows.

Warren continued, "Daniels was a rich eccentric fellow with a passionate belief of the existence of three magical artefacts called the Deathly Hallows, the same Resurrection stone, a cloak and a wand, supposedly given by Death to three brothers," he paused, probably noticing that they weren’t as clueless about what he was talking about, "You must know of the fairy tale by Beedle the Bard."

"Yes."

"I've read it."

They answered almost in unison.

"Daniels was a Quester of the Hallows. Many Questers, Daniels included, believe that the three brothers in the tale were Peverells," Warren regurgitated something that they already knew, "For a majority the quest is all fun and games but a select few take the Hallows very seriously because they think that the one who unites all three will be the Master of Death."

"The story doesn't say that," Hermione said blandly.

"Doesn't matter. Daniels believed it. Gaunt believes it too. Gaunt wants to unite the Hallows," Warren confirmed Hermione's fears, “Among other things.”

Harry noticed how Warren kept referring to Daniels in the past tense.

"I take it Daniels is dead."

"We found him in his home; Gaunt's handiwork,” Warren confirmed, “Aurors caught up with Daniels’ assistant and ran his magical imprint through the database. It was Dodgey."

Hermione asked, "What was Dodgey doing in Toronto? Was he trying to steal from Daniels?"

"Far from it. According to Dodgey he was hired by Burkes and Burkes was one of the many artefact experts of dubious character hired by Daniels to find two of the three Hallows; the stone and the cloak. Burkes knows the market, he knows that the cloak and the stone Daniels was looking for had not been legally bought or sold in decades. He got this idea that some private collector must have them."

"So Burkes hired Dodgey to steal like magical artefacts from private collectors but Dodgey takes more than what they want so we'll think they're garden variety robberies," Hermione deduced correctly.

Warren added, "And not a bad way for Dodgey to make extra cash."

"Then when things got too hot here Burkes sent Dodgey to Toronto to cool off as Daniels' assistant," Harry concluded.

"Yes," Warren confirmed, "Only Gaunt escapes, kills Daniels and then Burkes, all of a sudden, has a new boss that he doesn't want to work for but scares the shit out if him. So I came back and I've been posing as Dodgey hoping to get Gaunt through Burkes but the bastard's smart. He hasn't showed himself to Burkes and I don't blame him after what happened the last time he was with him. We do know Gaunt's here because he thinks he has found the wand."

"He has the wand?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"Not yet. One thing that Daniels had written about the Elder wand in his journal was that its transfer of possession was quite obvious if one looked at magical history close enough. The wand can be traced by the death and violence associated with it. Daniels had this list of names of wizards of the past believed to have been its master. There is wide speculation about who its current master is but Daniels, it seemed, had eliminated most of the possibilities but one."

"Which one?" Hermione asked.

"The Dark Wizard Gellert Grindelwald. Daniels wrote in his journal how it was obvious that Grindelwald had been master of the wand during the height of his power. He used the triangular symbol of the Hallows many times, notably at Durmstrang Institute and at Nurmengard."

"Last week someone matching Gaunt's description accessed Grindelwald's arrest record illegally. Gaunt now knows that Grindelwald didn't have a wand when he was taken to Nurmengard. We think he thinks the wizard who defeated Grindelwald has it, or had it. It makes logical sense that the first place he'll explore will be Albus Dumbledore's tomb. We think he's looking for ways to get into Hogwarts."

Warren stopped talking and silence filled the room. He could tell that Hermione was thinking the very same thing he was. He wasn't concerned about Gaunt finding the stone or the cloak. The wand was truly the most obvious one to track down and the first obvious place to look was exactly where it was. He needed to step back from the thought of many others figuring this out.

"Why isn't the Canadian Ministry going through proper channels?" Harry asked.

Hermione was quick to accuse, "Because unlike the last time they now think the stone, the cloak and the Deathstick do exist and some asshole with rank decided that if found, they're going to be sneaked out of Britain."

"It wasn't my idea," Warren reasoned, defending himself from Hermione's glare.

"That makes it all better," Hermione mocked. "I wouldn't be surprised if their priority is no longer apprehending Morpheus Gaunt."

Warren’s lack of response was troubling.

"So, how did you manage to get Canadian sentries into Hogwarts to watch the Professor's tomb? Headmistress McGonagall would have never permitted it, not without the Minister's okay," Harry asked, curious and stating the obvious.

"We have one. A temp Professor, a um… replacement for one that got suddenly ill," Warren revealed, "He set up a portal so that the second he sees Gaunt we'll make a move."

Security at the school wasn't what it used to be, that much he knew. Hermione looked at him, hoping to catch an inkling of where he thought they should go with this. There was really only one option.

Harry said to Warren, "We don't have a choice. We have to tell John and Kingsley what this is about, off the record."

He could feel Hermione tense up and stare at him in disbelief.

"But..." she started to say.

Harry interrupted her before she totally lost control, "The alternative is to step aside and let Warren and the Canadian Ministry walk all over our authority because they're greedy. It's a crackpot story but this could be entertaining. I'd rather be involved so I can watch. Wouldn't you?"

She nodded, stepping off the argument though he definitely had not heard the last of it.

"I understand," Warren said to them, "I'll let them know of your decision. I'd expect my Minister would be more than willing to talk to your Minister officially now. We'll be in touch."

Warren left without another word. Harry was already on his phone with Kingsley, asking to see him right away. The second he got off Hermione spoke.

"We can't just tell him," she bursted, "We can't just tell anyone."

“Why not? Many know about the Hallows,” he reminded her, “It’s a children’s fable.”

"Precisely. With Kingsley involved the Canadians will be forced to make things official. A formal Ministry investigation that will put the story and the Hallows on the spotlight,” she made a pitch, which of course made sense.

“Let’s just hope it doesn’t become a formal one, then. At this point we really have no control over that,” he told her what he knew she didn’t want to accept.

“This is bad,” she frowned, "The cloak may be safe and the stone may never be found but deducing where the wand rests is child's play. The Elder Wand needs to be better protected. If only we could move it."

She sighed one of frustration.

"We can't break into the Professor's tomb," Harry said what she was thinking, "We can talk to Professor McGonagall about better wards but we also need to get the Canadians and Gaunt off its trail."

"How?"

"I don't know yet but telling Kingsley and John will at least deter them from taking it."

"I'm not so sure about that," she said with tremendous scepticism, "I'll see you at the Ministry."

Hermione Disapparated. As Harry followed suite, he thought about how she was right. The wand's current resting place was not ideal. But the more he thought about it the more he felt that it was where the wand would always belong.

XXXXXXXXXX

Later that night Hermione was still upset about how the day had turned out. As much as she and Harry stressed that the case wasn't about the existence of the Hallows it was difficult to focus the grown wizards around the table. They were all fixated on the possibility of Professor Dumbledore's wand being the Deathstick, particularly that untrustworthy Deputy Unspeakable Maximus.

The involvement of Unspeakables was most unfortunate. After she and Harry told Kingsley what the Canadians were up to, he brought in John who brought in Humptail who suggested involving Head Unspeakable Jericho because the Canadian Head Unspeakable was also in the know. Max was invited by Jericho for his knowledge of the theories surrounding the Deathly Hallows, a subject the foreigner had become an expert on when he studied Gellart Grindelwald ‘in the old days'. He too had noticed Grindelwald's use of the Hallows symbol. Just their luck.

The most worrisome suggestion that day came from the Unspeakables. Max wanted to disturb the Professor's tomb to get the wand and study it. Had Harry, John and Kingsley not spoken up against it with finality she would have lost it and broken her promise to him that she would keep her cool.

On the bright side Headmistress McGonagall had allowed Kingsley to put more protective enchantments around Hogwarts and to station a couple of Aurors to watch the Professor's tomb. Their story was the Auror office had reason to believe that Pureblood Supremacists were planning to sully the Professor's burial place and just the thought horrified the Headmistress so much she asked why the Ministry wasn't assigning more Aurors on the case.

The Canadian Minister had also made contact as Gates predicted. For now there was status quo; they would allow the Canadian Hogwarts spy to remain in place and in return, the Canucks would share all the information they had on the case so they could catch Gaunt sooner. Right.

It was still unofficial and off the books, just as she and Harry preferred but all the uncertainty and lack of real control over the situation was making her very anxious. Earlier she had suggested to Harry that perhaps they should put together a group like the Order of the Phoenix to watch out for situations like this, one that wouldn't be as bound to rules and regulations as they were, but they got somewhat sidetracked during that conversation.

She remembered how angry she was and how Harry distracted her, just as the memory of it was distracting her right now. They made love against the fridge and on the kitchen floor; the kitchen floor. Just thinking about it made her yearn for him again. It still overwhelmed her sometimes just how much more physical their relationship was compared to how she imagined any relationship of hers would be.

Hermione finished brushing her teeth, got out of the bathroom and was kind of disappointed not to find Harry in bed. She walked out into the hallway and found him already in pyjamas standing at the entrance of the third and smallest room. They were thinking about renovating it from the current bedroom that it was into something else.

He turned towards her as she joined him then naturally pulled her gently against his body and held her from behind. She leaned into his tender and warm embrace, holding onto his arms he had draped over her shoulders.

"A study," he suggested. "A desk by the window, some shelves along that wall."

They spent a moment imagining it.

"Maybe," she frowned, noncomittal, then told him what her partner mentioned, "What about a man room."

He chucked, "A what?"

"A place where men can be men and not feel the pressure of being judged for choosing to spend an entire afternoon watching sports on the telly or playing Muggle videogames or drinking all night with friends," she repeated verbatim.

"Dean?"

"Uh-huh."

"Tempting and I appreciate your sweet offer but I'll pass," he laughed and kissed her hair. “Are you sure you don’t want a study?”

“Would you ever use it?” she asked.

“I could, we could, I have been having dreams about you in one lately,” he chuckled.

“You’re incurable,” she laughed with him.

“Come to think of it, we could turn it into different rooms, different places, different times,” he said suggestively, brushing his lips lightly against her nape, “Kind of a room of requirement.”

“We could…”

Harry lifted her off her feet effortlessly and carried her to their bed cradled in his arms, her heart humming as they kissed. He turned the lights down and slipped under the covers with her. They made out, unhurriedly and tenderly, his ministrations emptying her mind of all worries about stones and cloaks and wands being found and being used for evil.

They were content to keep it to that and it was kind of funny and embarrassing how it was so relaxing that drowsiness crept up insidiously and overcame her. Her last memory just before she fell asleep was him laughing lightly after she apologized when she realized what was about to happen. He told her she was forgiven and then she felt his gentle kiss on her forehead as he wished her pleasant dreams.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Was that Elder wand – Grindelwald connection as obvious as I thought it was to one who was on the quest or was I imagining things? Maybe it was one of those things that Mr. Lovegood knew but never got to share with Harry. Maybe it wouldn’t have made a difference.

The length of this fic kills me and sometimes I do wish the Hallows part of this back story wasn’t important to the present. Thanks to those who continue to be patient and supportive. Next up is a bit more about Gaunt and trying to capture him. Warren will be back.

35. Saint Petersburg

A/N. Quick update to make up for that last one.

Jean Peverell is mentioned here so we must be close to the end of the past.

We find out more about Gaunt and The Hag makes a cameo.

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Chapter 35 - Saint Petersburg

The next day Dean was back at work, still a bit sore from Gates' curse but quite pleased that she had avenged his suffering. John had given her clearance to tell her partner about the Hallows after reassurance from her that Dean could be trusted. Since Harry had meetings with Harpies and Flamers managements today and was busy planning for security at the game she needed Dean's help with the Gaunt case.

"Whoa!" Dean exclaimed and got excited the first time he came across the symbol for the Hallows, "I've seen this before. Luna's Dad had robes with this symbol on them."

"Luna never mentioned the Hallows to you?"

"No," he replied somberly then immersed himself back into the thick of the Canadian reference file marked 'Deathly Hallows 101'.

Hermione knew which robe Dean was referring to. Mr. Lovegood had worn one to Bill and Fleur's wedding and had offended the Bulgarian Quidditch star Victor Krum who mistakenly associated the Hallows symbol as evil because Grindelwald used it. It was this same association that Mr. Lovegood's fellow quester Daniels made to conclude that Grindelwald must have been using the unbeatable wand at the height of his power.

Dean reacted with the same worship-like awe about the possibilities of an Unbeatable wand as Kingsley, John, Humptail and the Unspeakables did last night and she decided it, like Ron's reaction years ago, was the normal response. At first she thought the Elder wand was evil; fitting for something Death supposedly carved himself as a ruse to get its owner killed. But if that were true then the stone and the cloak too were evil and she couldn't think that the cloak they had used throughout Hogwarts was. She guessed the perception stemmed from the fact that of the three it was the wand that seemed to bring out the worst in those who came in contact with it. Many evil things were performed with it or because of it.

In truth she found it hard to believe that the magical objects really came from 'Death'. 'Death' to her was merely the fictional character Beedle the Bard used to make the fable more educational. The Peverells or some other skillful witch or wizard must have created them. And that Hallows quester Holy Grail about uniting them and being Master of Death had no basis whatsoever.

She and Dean spent most of the morning perusing and sorting the documents sent over by the Canadians. The sheer bulk of it and lack of useful content made Dean grumble with distrust. While she for the most part agreed with Dean, some of the files did give her a better idea of who Gaunt was and how much Gaunt knew about the Hallows.

The tragedy in all of this was that Morpheus Gaunt's real parents were good folk who met an untimely death, a car accident. His father, Philip Park was a Canadian Muggle, a struggling singer-songwriter who made an honest living playing small local bars. Not much was known about his mother, Leanne, except that she was born in London and that her mother had been in a home for the invalid and died shortly after she did. Since neither parent had suitable next of kin Thomas Park ended up in a Muggle orphanage.

The similarities with Voldemort started there. Gaunt was strange, misunderstood and used his magical ability in unacceptable ways. But unlike Voldemort there was no Hogwarts or Albus Dumbledore to save him from the orphanage. He was a runaway at fifteen, re-emerging a few years later with formidable magical skills despite the lack of formal training. How he was found legally insane was unclear to her, the Canadian processes much different from British ones. However, knowing that the Canadian Unspeakables and Healers were very interested in his mind reading and mind control skills, she thought it possible that someone high up in their Ministry decided this. Declaring Gaunt legally insane stripped him of most rights, including the ability to refuse `treatment'. It was the only way the Canadians could study his talents further.

Dean was attempting to piece things together.

"I still can't figure this out. The last time Gaunt came here he was after the Resurrection stone so he could raise his parents from the dead, right? How did he find out about it?"

"Theodorphus Daniels. In the course of his search Park came across an article Daniels wrote for an occult magical periodical which delved into known artefacts that could bring people back from the dead. The Peverell stone was one of many mentioned and actually seventh on a list of thirteen."

"How did he get from that to thinking he was Voldemort's nephew?" Dean followed up.

She shrugged, "That's unclear. From what the Canadians know after he escaped the first time he went to Moscow to find the Death Portal that Daniels had written about. There the MLE closed in on him and he had them kill each other off. Oddly he seemed to have skipped items two through six and picked to check out the Peverell stone next. Then all of a sudden he was killing as Morpheus Gaunt. That bugged me. Why Morpheus Gaunt? Why would he ditch the Park identity for an equally notorious one?"

"You don't think he was trying to elude extradition as what the Canadians theorized?"

"That doesn't make sense. The Canadian prison for the insane is a spa compared to Azkaban," she opined, "I think he switched identities then because he was set in his belief that he was a 'Gaunt'."

"The question is what triggered that switch?"

"Or who?"

Her phone rang.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey," Harry replied, "Made a dent at that mountain of parchment yet?"

"We're down to a hill," she estimated, "How's it going with you?"

"I can't understand why they won't agree to my recommendation," he complained, "You thought it was brilliant, right?"

He wanted to have some fun with the stiffs he had been meeting with so he was going to suggest something totally ridiculous.

She played along, "Announcing to the public that Ginny is injured and won't play? Ingenious. So what if less people come to watch? What's a few thousand galleons of lost revenue?"

"They don't have their priorites straight," he commented.

"Ginny will be much more reasonable."

He chuckled, "I'm sure. Has Warren showed up yet?"

"No sign of the royal pain," just the mention of his name made her tense up. She enquired, "I had been meaning to ask you. Why do you think Gaunt chose to be Gaunt?"

"He's just another Voldemort wannabe," he quickly answered. They had seen so many of them since the Dark Wizard's biography was published they didn't even question that anymore, "Does it matter?"

"Not sure," she thought about his question, "It probably doesn't. Do you know anyone at the Russian MLE who I could talk with about what happened in Moscow?"

She was hoping Harry had a good contact. Calling through the formal channels was a pain and wasn't an option for their off the record investigation.

"Boris Dovalov," he quickly answered, "I'm sending you his contact info right now. He's the veteran Auror who was part of the investigation after the Moscow incident."

Someone interrupted him. He told her he had to go back to the meeting. She thanked him and rang Dovalov. After ten rings a coarse voice answered with a grunt.

"Are you Auror Dovalov?" she had to ask.

"You get this number how?" he demanded in broken English.

"Harry Potter."

She introduced herself as a fellow Auror.

"What do you want?"

"I'm calling about a sensitive matter."

"Talk," he confirmed that the line was secure.

"It's about Thomas Park. Before the attempt to arrest him in Moscow..."

She couldn't continue. Dovalov interrupted her mid question.

"I reach you back."

Dovalov hung up. Okay...

She waited a minute, then two, staring at her phone, tapping her fingers on the table in front of her, wondering if she should actually do something else until he called back At exactly three minutes her phone rang. Dovalov was giving instructions

"36 Dvortsovaia Naberezhnaia, Saint Petersburg, exactly one hour, bring partner."

"What about Moscow?"

Dovalov said to her impatiently, "Moscow no good for Gaunt and no good for you. Moscow for Canadians, get Canadians thinking Moscow is important. Not Moscow but Saint Petersburg. You are tourist. Gaunt was tourist many many times. Long live the Queen."

He hung up abruptly again before she could speak. Long live the Queen?

She looked at Dean with a frown on her face.

"What did he say?" her partner asked.

Hermione wasn't sure.

"How's our Russian?"

Dean replied, "The Russian translator devices are still prototypes but much better since the last time we used it. Why?"

"We're going to Saint Petersburg."

"I've always wanted to see Saint Petersburg," he replied cheerfully, probably just happy to avoid the parchments they still had to go through.

While the Russian's unorthodox reply made alarms go off in her head, it validated her concern that something about Moscow, well Saint Petersburg, was a missing puzzle piece. Dean dug up what the Ministry knew of the Russian Auror and the address he had given them.

"The Winter Palace and State Hermitage Museum," she read over Dean's shoulder.

"I am in the mood for some darn fine art work."

They got to Saint Petersburg just as the doors to the State Hermitage Museum, Russia's largest art gallery and a world reknowned museum with one of the best collections of paintings and sculptures, opened to the public. They each took Muggle audio guides and put them on, trying not to be awed too much by the oppulent magnificence and beautiful masterpieces surrounding them.

They were in the Winter Palace. The green and white 3-storey historic edifice, now part of the Hermitage, was once home to the tsars of Russia. It took some time for that to sink in.

Not long into the tour the voice on the tape changed and started giving her different instructions than the couple they had been walking with. Dean looked like he was hearing what she was hearing. Continuing down the corridor they were told to take, it was clear that they were going where no tourists were allowed. The amazing artwork diminished in number and the windows gradually disappeared. After a while the passageway became narrower, darker and more damp and it felt like they were going underground.

Then a dead end. The voice stopped talking and they were left with this eerie, spinetingling silence.

She and Dean exchanged cautionary glances. They took the headphones off, drew out their wands and as she lit hers, it shone on the stone wall before them. There was a symbol on it, triangular, cut in identical halves by a straight line and punctuated by a circular figure; the symbol of the Hallows.

"What now?" Dean whispered, his eyes darting above, to the sides and behind them as hers did.

She thought for a moment then said, "Long live the Queen."

Nothing happened.

“The translator,” she said to her partner.

Dean handed her the language translator device. She spoke through the microphone like contraption and out came a phrase in Russian. The one word she recognized in it was `Tsaritsa'.

The Hallows symbol sunk into itself and the rest of the walls surrounding them began to shake, receeding away. They shuffled back and closer, hanging on to each other as the floor suddenly dropped twenty feet and stopped abruptly the same time the ceiling above them converged from two sides and reformed the floor on the level above. They were plunged into complete darkness. Dean hissed a swear as they both lit their spare wands and held weapons at the ready in the other. Her partner was as wide eyed as she was.

After quickly determining that they were the only humans in it, she conjured a bluebell flame and exposed where they were. They were in somebody's living quarters.

From first glance the most apparent was that the somebody who lived in it was from a different period in time. Really old black and white pictures of a family hung on the wall near the entrance, the first things one would see coming in. Off to the left was a library, beside it a small kitchen and then a simple bedroom with a bathroom. It was as plain as any living quarters would be and quite surprising to find under all the grandeur above.

"Who do you think lived here?" Dean asked in a quiet voice as she gravitated to the library, seemingly the largest and most used room in the abode.

On the desk was a brown leather bound book engraved with the name of its owner, Grigori Efimovich Rasputin.

"Rasputin?" Dean exclaimed, "My Muggle history is rusty but wasn't he the Romanov family healer and adviser who many blame for the fall of the Russian monarchy?"

"Among many other things," she replied.

It made sense that he would have quarters in the palace but why underground and why in secret? She pointed to the first page on the journal that had the Hallows symbol, aimed her wand at the book and magically translated the Russian writings into English.

Midway down the page, in big bold letters, Rasputin wrote, "At last, I am Master of the Peverell wand."

"This keeps getting complicated," Dean commented. “I didn't even know he was magical.”

“Neither did I.”

Trying not to disturb the remaining items on the desk too much, she sat on his chair and continued to read Rasputin's journal beyond the first page as Dean scoured the quarters for more clues. It seemed that while someone had been there recently, much like them, whoever came spent a majority of their time in the library.

She read an important passage out loud for Dean who was going through the shelves of dusty books looking for ones that had been recently taken out, "July 25th, 1914. Today I summoned Death. It was not as scary as I thought it would be. I found it pleasant despite complaining about being taken away from its duties. I asked to see my brother and sister and it replied that for that I would need the Peverell stone.

"I told it I tried the Resurrection stone a few times. Just like the Cloak, it was easy enough to find its current possessor using common books on Britain's wizarding ancestry. I borrowed the black rock from the hapless Gaunts of Little Hangleton during my last visit in the area but found it a great disappointment, repulsive even that I had little doubt it was as cursed as the family that owned it. I put it back in its rightful place. Death has given me other ideas."

“It's not everyday that one can speak with Death and tell the story,” Dean commented jokingly.

She remembered reading that Rasputin had excesses, and despite being spiritual succumbed to the temptation of sex and alcohol. He may have hallucinated the conversation with `Death' but she couldn't think he was delusional and hallucinating while he was writing the journal. It was very difficult imagining Death actually talking with Rasputin (or anyone for that matter) but still, imagined or not, she wondered what it was that Death suggested.

Dean sat beside her with three books from the shelves, "Someone's been through these recently."

She quickly scanned the book titles.

Where are the Purebloods?

The Wizard Families of Great Britain

Nature's Nobility : A Wizarding Genealogy

The last one was the book from the old Black house where she first read about the Peverells. Dean flipped through the pages of the second book and stopped as something jumped out of the page.

Potters of Godric's Hollow

Pieces of the wrong puzzle were falling into place for Dean, "It says here that the Potters of Godric's Hollow are descended from Ignotus Peverell. Harry has an invisibility cloak."

Dean saw the blood drain from her face before she could mask her reaction.

"Harry owns the Peverell Cloak and you've known all along!"

"You can't tell anyone!" she sternly said to him, "Not even Luna."

"Sure but I don't know how long before someone else figures it out. Rasputin did and I'm guessing the Russian Auror knows. Gaunt was in here. He must have read these..."

She shook her head then redirected Dean to the book, "Look. There are several other families descended from Ignotus. Gaunt doesn't really know which one had it or if they still have it. Burkes and Dodgey are still looking for the stone and cloak, remember?"

"This means that the wand and the stone really do exist," Dean said excitedly, "Does Harry have them too."

"No."

"Please tell me the wand isn't really in Professor Dumbledore's tomb," and when she didn't answer his eyes widened with concern, "Where's the stone?"

"I don't know," she said, a half truth; she had an idea where it was but not exactly.

"What's that?" something caught her eye in the book Dean was brandishing, two pieces of folded paper were inserted between its pages in a spot that a previous reader had deemed mark-worthy.

Dean opened the book. It was on the page with an illustration of the Gaunt family tree. Someone had added Morfin and Merope to it and more. There was a broken line from Morfin to the name Nancy Bower and under them Leanne. Leanne Bower married a Philip Park and they had a son, Thomas Park who was now Morpheus Gaunt.

She unfolded the papers and found the proof. First, an orphanage document citing his next of kin, a grandmother named Nancy Bower who was an invalid in a retirement home in London. The second was an older document, a copy of a Muggle Police report, a record of complaint filed by one Ethan Bower of Little Hangleton on behalf of his teenage daughter Nancy who had allegedly been 'violated' and impregnated by one Morfin Gaunt.

"The charges were withdrawn. If I were the Dad I would rather raise the kid away from the Gaunts too," Dean said sensibly.

They put back the books where they found them but made copies of Rasputin's journal and the proof that Gaunt was a Gaunt before returning them in place.

"How do we get out of here?" Dean asked.

She shrugged, "We should be able to Disapparate."

And they did. Before they left St. Peterburg she got a message from Dovalov, a hope that they found everything they needed. They did but now she had a gazillion questions about Rasputin. She had to stop herself from calling the Russian Auror back. The fact that he wasn't there to give them a proper tour spoke loads about how off the record all this was. And besides, as much as Rasputin was instrumental in Gaunt's Peverell family education, the Mad Monk was not what this was about.

They were back in London within the hour. Knowing that Gaunt was truly a Gaunt and that he had Rasputin's ideas about where the cloak and the stone could be was quite disturbing. And adding to her apprehension was his knowledge from Daniels that the wand was likely in the Professor's tomb. At this point she was worried not about what Gaunt would do with the Hallows if he managed to acquire all three but what death and damage he would do to acquire them.

Her thoughts continued to race through the possibilities. What if Gaunt already suspected that Harry had the cloak? She came to an even more distressing thought. Gaunt would want the Elder wand first then use that to challenge Harry for his cloak. And while she didn't think Gaunt could get the wand and knew Harry would defeat Gaunt handily even if Gaunt did challenge Harry, if there was some other way to get Gaunt she would choose that than risk all the dire possibilities happening.

The key was the wand. They had to capture Gaunt before he could get his hands on the wand. Right now the wand in the tomb was bait and that was too risky. Surely, even Professor Dumbledore would understand the need to move the wand to a safer location. Convincing Harry, however, would be a different thing.

As that worry lingered in her mind Humptail bellowed from his office door, "Granger! Thomas!"

He motioned them towards the Auror conference room. Already she was resenting Humptail's authority. She was really having difficulty with the thought of working under him as the Head Auror. She just didn't respect him enough.

As soon as they stepped into the room she found John talking with Gates. They stopped their conversation and Gates rolled his eyes up.

"Please tell me there's someone else," Gates said the John.

"She's the best we have."

Thank you John.

"What is this about?" Dean asked the question for her.

"Then give me second best," Gates ignored Dean's question, "She can't do this."

"What can't I do?"

"Warren's got a brilliant idea about how to draw Morpheus Gaunt out," Humptail explained.

"Well, what is this brilliant idea?" she asked him.

Gates explained, "The last time Gaunt escaped Harry and I planted a few fictional Peverells and we forgot about them after the Bat Cave. To make a long story short one of our plants is getting massive pings from an interested party."

"Massive pings?" Dean asked.

"Someone's checking her back-story out from every angle and I think it's Gaunt," Gates answered, "We need a player to make the plant real."

Undercover work. This was interesting. It was a way to get Gaunt before he could violate the Professor's tomb.

"I have no problem with that," she couldn't contain her excitement.

"Well, I do," Gates replied, "I don't think you can play the part."

She took the file from the desk in front of her and flipped to the first page, "Jean Peverell, twenty-three year old primary school teacher from small town Newton, newly married, no kids, husband an assistant Professor of astrophysics at Oxford. It seems easy enough. I can do this."

Hermione continued reading through the made up character's profile silently at the same time she listened to the hogwash Gates was feeding John and Humptail.

"I can't work with her."

"There is no one else," John repeated.

"She's stubborn, opinionated, thinks she knows everything..."

"She knows a lot more than your average witch but she's amazing to work with," Dean defended her, “I can't see why anyone would have a problem working with her unless they're stupid and don't want to be exposed.”

"What about Auror Uncewoth?" Humptail suggested.

John answered, "Mat leave."

Dean was surprised, "She gave birth already?"

The conversation went off tangent.

"Uh-huh."

"What did she have?"

"I dunno."

"She was expecting a boy."

"She had twin boys," Hermione tired of the exchange, replied without looking up.

"Anyone else," Gates redirected the men impatiently.

"There's Auror Esterbrook," Humptail said tentatively.

"Ew!" Dean couldn't help his reaction.

"What?!" Gates asked.

"She's just back from a bad case of dragon pox," John explained, "Unfortunately no amount of healing potion or transfiguration can cover the scars up. She's um... kind of hard on the eyes right now."

Men were horrible superficial beings.

"Someone from another quadrant?" Gates continued to undermine her capabilities.

"What is your problem with me?" she had enough, "I told you I could do this."

"I'm playing the husband," he said to her face, "You won't last twenty-four hours playing wife to me."

"I may loathe you but I can be professional about this," she felt insulted that he would even think she couldn't set aside personal differences to do a simple job.

"Really?" he challenged, walking up to where she was.

"Yes, really!" she answered emphatically.

"Let me disprove that."

"Be my gue...!"

Gates moved in quickly, too quickly she was unable to react in time. Before she knew it his hand was on the small of her back and was pulling her body flush against him. His mouth had caught hers perfectly in mid-sentence and was now kissing her passionately, like her lover would, like Harry would. Her eyes opened widely as the thought that Harry was the only one allowed clicked in. The fucking asshole!!!

"Ow!" Gates yelped, pushing away from her faster than he pulled her in. He doubled over and held on to his privates protectively amidst a collective sympathy groan from the men in the room. Still with a pained expression and in a pinched higher voice he said to the group, "I told you she couldn't do this."

Fuck! She was angry and embarrassed at the same time! She should have expected he would stoop this low! She rubbed her mouth roughly against the back of her wrist feeling as if she had been kissed by the plague itself.

"I can do this! Just not with him!" she proclaimed defensively.

While Dean was patting her on the back, to congratulate rather than console, and the other men were offering Gates help, the door to the conference room opened. Minister Shacklebolt walked in immediately followed by a witch she had hoped never to see ever again.

"Fuck..." she hissed under her breath.

What now?

"Waterloo!"

The Hag heard her and turned to face them.

"Hag," she greeted, trying to avert her eyes from focussing on the large wart on her crooked nose, which detracted from the rest of her ungainly features, "This is a surprise."

"A surprise for me too. I had thought you would have quit by now," the older woman pointed out.

"Well, I'm still here," she smiled, hoping that would force her to remain pleasant.

"I can see that," the Hag nodded her head, "Understandably so."

She was nudged from the side.

"This is my partner, Dean Thomas."

Dean extended his hand out which the Hag took.

"Pleased to finally meet you, Ma'am," Dean said to her, "I love your work."

The Hag laughed one of her ghastly laughs and thanked Dean for his compliment.

"Hag, what are you doing here?" Hermione asked, "I thought your work here was done?"

She merely gave her that annoying grin of hers which meant she wouldn't answer.

The Minister explained, "As we have done in highly sensitive and important cases I've asked for the Hag's assistance to vet the undercover Aurors. Are you ready for her?"

"Not quite," it was John who answered unhappily.

He, Humptail and Gates all cast accusing glances at her, which made her think, why is this my fault?

Kingsley said something about that being unfortunate but he trusted that they would work things out. He excused himself and then stepped out to attend to more important matters. Hermione was hoping the Minister would stay so the Hag would behave herself but luck wasn't on her side.

"Waterloo," she hated the Hag's patronizing tone, "Are you being difficult again?"

Breath in, breath out.

"I can work with bastards, just not that particular bastard," she said unemotionally.

"The Chameleon Lover!" the Hag called out, causing Dean to snort involuntarily.

John and Humptail were more professional and were trying their best to keep a straight face.

"Hag," Gates walked gingerly over to her and gave her a peck on the cheek, "It's good to see you again."

"For a moment I didn't recognize that it was you writhing in pain in the corner," she said with concern, "Can I offer you a blast of healing ice?"

Dean was shaking, tears in his eyes while John and Humptail burst out in muffled chuckles.

"No thanks, I'm fine."

"I told you before. You must protect the family jewels," she scolded, "You will need each and every one of them to fulfill your destiny of procreation and seeding of the world."

"The family jewels are just fine," Gates reassured her, blushing at the amusement the exchange was providing the audience, "Thank you for your concern."

Hermione scoffed, the thought of him 'seeding the world' was nauseating. Maybe she should have kicked him harder to do the world a favour.

The Hag was back on her case, "What seems to be the problem here?"

"She can't hack the job," Gates said coolly.

"Find me another Auror to play my husband, John," she said to her boss, "I'll work with anyone other than that clown."

"Can you?" The Hag interceded, "So if I ask you to pretend to be wife to anyone in this room you can do it convincingly? Pick one."

If looks could kill the Hag would be dead and had her boss not been in the room with them she would have given her a piece of her mind already. She had a choice between doing it or walking out. She was not a quitter.

She studied the candidates. John was fidgetting, Humptail looked confident, maybe even fucking hopeful and Dean was ashen with a greenish tinge. His eyes begged her not to pick him. If she was going to do this with anyone in the room it might as well be Gates.

"She doesn't need to prove anything," a familiar and welcome voice came out of thin air and until she saw him by the door thought she was imagining him, "We've posed as a couple before, twice before in fact. I can vouch for her. She's pretty convincing."

The manner Harry said that last line made her face warm up somewhat.

"Is that you, Heartbreak?"

"Hag," he acknowledged, then greeted the witch with a smooch on the cheek just as Gates had.

"I see you're still playing hero."

Relief washed over her. My hero.

Harry seemed to know just how to handle the Hag, "And you're still stripping dignity for sport."

"I'm just having some fun," the Hag laughed carelessly, "You have always been such a spoilsport, too serious for your own good. Now, where were we?"

"Another Auror to play my husband," Hermione reminded them, looking over hopefully at John for his answer.

"Gaunt is no walk in the park," John explained to her, "It has to be someone with good instincts and skills and since Harry is tied up until next week, it'll have to be Warren. Make it work."

It was an order.

"Good. That's settled. Everybody, leave us," the Hag ordered, "Not to worry, John. By the end of the day I'll have the two of them acting like husband and wife better than real ones."

"Yeah, we can be the always bickering type," Warren suggested sarcastically.

Hermione chimed in, "That's the best idea you've ever had."

The Hag clasped her hands together and exuberantly pointed out, "You just had your first agreement! This is a great beginning!"

That did not improve the seething dislike Hermione had for both her and the 'Chameleon Lover'. John and Humptail left and so did Dean. Harry too was gone and he seemed to have left before the others. It would have been perfect had Harry not been busy with Ginny's case but instead she would be working with the prick. Life just wasn't fair sometimes.

"Now, what to do next?"

The Hag gave her and Gates a glance and pursed her lips. She waved her wand with a flourish and the room filled with images of Gaunt's every victim, each of them coming up front and centre and introducing themselves, reminding them of who they were and who they were in someone's life. She had tears in her eyes not even halfway through, tears of sorrow for the victims and those they left behind and tears of anger for the heartless wizard who was responsible for all this pain and suffering. When the last ghostly image disappeared into thin air the Hag spoke.

"We are relying on you to stop him, to prevent him from killing more and he will kill more if you fail. If you do not work together you will fail, you will fail not only yourself but also those his victims left behind and those who will be left behind. Do we have your commitment?"

Their answers were obvious.

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A/N. Hope not too many get hung up on the Rasputin angle. I've always wanted to use a non-fictional character in a fictional way.

The Chameleon Lover - the Hag does come up with the cheesiest names for her students :lol: I would hate her too but she does know how to get the job done.

Harry is obviously not happy that Warren will be working with Hermione.

Up next a full plate…Harry's thoughts on that, Ginny in London and if we have time, the `ring'.

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36. The Resurrection Stone

A/N. Writing as Harry always gives me trouble so the relative quickness of this update surprises me.

For those who wanted more Hag – I apologize, she’s not in this one.

We know where the wand is and where the cloak is. Here’s the stone.

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Chapter 36 – The Resurrection Stone

There was a lot of tossing and turning that night. It was late, so late he stopped looking at the clock after it hit one. What the fuck was taking them so long? How hard could it be training them to be convincing as a couple? They never needed this much time.

Harry had just fallen asleep when he felt her join him in bed. She slipped under the covers with him and he, half in a daze, instinctively reached out to draw her in closer.

He had to smile. She was completely naked.

She snuggled up against him, the feel of her bare skin in his hands instantly waking him up in more ways than one.

"Are you going to smirk all night or are you going to make love to me?" she asked impishly, her breath falling gently on his lips.

His eyes adjusted to the little light that was in the room and he gazed at the outline of her face as she inched closely. Her mouth brushed lightly against his, then again and again, while her hands roamed under his shirt

"Why...do I have to make...all the hard choices?"

She was undressing him and he was trying to keep up. They devoured each other with desperation, his to stake a claim, to reassure himself that he was still who he was to her, hers he wasn't sure what about. As she slipped his boxers off he rolled her onto her back and moved his mouth over her neck, kissing her impatiently. She moaned and writhed, the feel of her soft skin rubbing against his absolutely heavenly. Her fingers were in his hair, carressing encouragingly as he moved down to her breasts.

Her body, her flesh arched up to meet his, letting him partake of her as he pleased. He drowned in her scent, the hint of lavender driving him to want to taste her bareness all the more. His hands carressed what they desired to touch and what they knew she desired to be touched. Everything else was a haze of pleasant sensations, of her giving herself to him and of him taking and accepting her offer.

Their kisses became hungrier, more urgent, their lips locked, unceasing until they took each other's breath away. She spread her legs for him, moaning his name against his throat as her hot wet insides welcomed him.

He thrust into her deeply. Her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers dug into his back. It wasn't long before they climaxed simultaneously. Right after, still breathless he gazed down and studied her.

"Are you going to smirk all night?" he threw her question back at her.

She chuckled and replied, keeping her eyes closed when she did, "Just until I fall asleep."

"How did the training go?" he asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as he had practiced all night.

"Okay, I guess," she answered. "The Hag says Warren and I are ready."

She just called him Warren. So it was ‘Warren’ now.

“When?”

“In the morning.”

“How long?”

“A week tops. We figured if he doesn’t make contact by then we’ll bail.”

They were going undercover in the morning, a few short hours away. All that practice to be mature about the thing since hastily leaving the conference room before he made a scene was now for naught. She must have noticed the change for she frowned and opened her eyes.

“You are okay with this, right?”

“I want to be but I’m not,” he said to her honestly.

She kissed him, sweet, deep.

“You have nothing to be worried about.”

“If it were someone else…who am I kidding? I can’t stand the thought of anyone pretending to be your husband,” he said what he didn’t want to say and just kept on going like a freight train out of control, “Let someone else do this.”

“Harry, you know I can’t do that,” she had a shocked expression that jarred him back to reality.

“Of course not,” he backed off, knowing now it was an unwelcome suggestion. He understood that this was her case, that this was part of her job and that it would be unfair to ask her to back out just because he didn’t like the idea of someone playing house with her, “I wish you could.”

He was a selfish bastard, putting her on the spot like this. She bit back whatever retort it was that came to her mind, choosing to not respond to his non-question.

“You’d tell me if he tried something asinine, right?”

“Everybody would know if he did,” she replied like it was a promise.

She would never let Warren get away with anything like that but the mere thought of Warren given the opportunity and reason to touch any part of her was enough to cloud his judgment again. He couldn’t talk about this rationally and he didn’t want a row. It was so tempting though because he was almost sure that if he explicitly asked her to decline the assignment for him, there was a fair chance that she would.

He shouldn’t. He wanted to and could sink that low but he shouldn’t.

Harry steered their conversation away. Earlier Dean told him about Saint Petersburg and Rasputin, about Gaunt being a Gaunt, and about the wand, the cloak and the stone. He wanted to talk to her as much as she did. They ended up having an argument about that.

“Anyone with half a brain can easily link you to the cloak and to the wand,” she pointed out logically.

“There’s nothing I can do about that,” he reasoned.

“That’s just it. There has to be something that you can do besides wait for someone like Gaunt to hound you and pester you about it!” was her impassioned reply.

“I am not taking the Professor’s wand,” he said it to her straight.

“The Professor is dead. He’d understand…”

“No, Hermione! This is not about him understanding! It’s about doing the right thing! I will not remove the wand from his tomb!”

She seemed to have finally heard him and calmed down.

“You’re right. That would be wrong,” she said with dejected acceptance, “But without the wand, nobody would challenge you for the cloak, nobody would probably want the cloak badly enough in the first place."

“I know you’re worried,” he said to her, taking her in his arms, “But we can't change who my family is and we can’t change what people know. And even if we move the wand, it’s not a guarantee that questers who find out about me will leave me alone.”

“Once one finds out the rest of the nutters will follow,” she predicted, “Don't you see it, Harry? It's going to happen all over again. This is just like Voldemort and his obsession that he had to kill you to survive. The Questers won't stop until they get what they want and you have something that they want. This could be for the rest of your life. You won’t ever have peace.”

He tried to make light of it, “No peace for the rest of my life seems a bit melodramatic don't you think? How about we deal with each crazy one at a time?”

She nodded but after a second he could tell she was crying.

“Ssssh,” he embraced her tighter, “Stop thinking the worse. It’ll be fine.”

She nodded again.

He didn’t go back to sleep after that. Neither did she but most likely for a very different reason than his. He watched her leave Grimmauld that morning, still kicking himself for not trying harder to make her not go. This Morpheus Gaunt case was getting on his nerves and it would give him no greater pleasure than to put the cause of his suffering behind bars permanently.

The days dragged on forever. They had not made contact which meant there was nothing to report. That fuelled the burning envy he felt from the torturing images of them he had in his mind. Four days ago Gaunt murdered a couple of Hit Wizards to let them officially know he was back in town. Every now and then there were Gaunt sightings in London that he and Dean would investigate. The git was taunting them, letting them know he was around.

He tried looking for the stone thinking that having the stone back would make Hermione less upset about his refusal to take the Professor's wand. But he couldn't find it. He went back several times into the Forbidden Forest at the spot where he dropped it and searched. He and Dean also poured over Ministry records of items confiscated from the Death Eaters and found in the area after the Battle of Hogwarts. The stone wasn't described in any of them. An animal could have eaten it, a being could have taken it and it looked ordinary enough that someone could have tossed it without second thought. It was anybody's guess where it was now.

Then there was his other case. As the Harpies and Flamers game drew closer details about Ginny’s and her team’s itinerary kept changing. It was bad in that he and his squad had to constantly revise coverage but also good because the lack of permanence in her schedule would make it more difficult for would-be attackers to plan how to do it. That meant they could really concentrate on what to do during the game.

He met with Ginny and her teammates after their most recent game so they could get to know his team, go over the plan, and ask questions if they had any. He finally got to watch her play, well, the tail end of the game which they won handily. It felt like the rest of the Harpies knew about them more that he would have liked. One of her teammates teased him about how Ginny had to have death threats for him to come and finally see her play professionally. The team had a laugh at his expense for which Ginny apologized.

They talked for a bit about how things were and she did ask if he was finally over her and seeing someone steady. He couldn’t lie although when pressed for a name he evaded it by telling her he’d introduce them when she was in London. She confirmed that she was seeing someone too, the Harpies owner's grandson. It was nice to know. It had been close to five months since their break-up. He wanted her to find the happiness and contentment he found with Hermione.

Then on the fifth day, Kingsley paged him. Finally. There was a breakthrough in the Morpheus Gaunt case. A high level meeting was going to take place and Kingsley wanted him to be there. Hermione and Warren were going to be in attendance too.

Harry Apparated into the Ministry Atrium and weaved his way through the sea of witches, wizards and beings that was now the norm there at this time of the day. It was noon, people were coming and going. The lines to the lifts were long and waiting was not an option. Summoning the emergency elevator, it arrived a split second later with its operator, the Free Elf Willy, welcoming him. Harry got in and told him where he wanted to go.

"Willy take Auror Potter there really fast, just like he did Auror Gates and Auror Granger seven point two five minutes ago," he said proudly.

"Thank you, Willy."

He sulked back. Seven minutes and she didn't even think of calling him. It had been five days since they'd seen each other, five days since she went under with Warren, and she couldn’t call him the second she could? He guessed she didn't miss him as much as he was dying to see her. While he realized he was acting more like a petulant teenager than a grown man he was too upset to fully acknowledge the insight.

"The Minister of Magic's Office," Free Willy announced and documented the drop off in his logbook.

Harry thanked the elf. He was the last to arrive and took the one remaining empty seat at the meeting table near the doors next to Max. Beside the Unspeakable was his boss Leo Jericho, then Kingsley, Hermione, Warren, John and Humptail. Three Floo fireplaces were open; the Canadian Minister, his Head Auror and his Head Unspeakable were joining them shortly.

Hermione was on the phone with someone when he arrived. She smiled and waved at him the moment he came in. He smiled back and absentmindedly acknowledged the greetings from the rest of the attendees. God he missed her.

A figure broke their line of sight. It was Warren, his hand on her arm, drawing her attention to him. The casual way the Canadian leaned in closer and whispered something in her ear irked him for a variety of reasons, foremost being the way she naturally leaned into Warren in return. And she ended her phone conversation for Warren but not for him.

Whoever it was who said love was not jealous didn't know what he or she was talking about. Watching Hermione intently listen to what Warren was saying was unsettling. It was like being suddenly set on fire and wanting to do the same to the person who caused it. He knew he shouldn't feel that way, he had no good reason to but he did.

For days he had been telling himself this was part of her job, this pretense. It had to be believable to work, just like they had to be believable that night when they pretended they were a couple at the Bat Cave.

The thought made him groan inwardly. For that they weren't even pretending for more than a minute. In comparison, she and Warren had been living together for five days. What the fuck was he thinking not asking her to decline the assignment? So what if letting her do it was the mature thing to do.

The Hag had done what he thought was impossible; she got Hermione to tolerate Warren. Harry preferred it much more when she hated Warren's guts. And as Warren nudged her and showed her something on his phone it took every ounce of will power to stop himself from telling Warren not to touch Hermione because she was his.

She was his. As wrong and as chauvinistic as that sounded he wanted to declare to the world and claim her as his. And not only that, he wanted her to be his forever.

But the declaration would have to wait and would probably have to be phrased better. Hermione would kill him not only for blurting something like that out here in front of Ministers and Head Aurors but also for having the prehistoric notion that she belonged to him. She would object to being an entity that belonged to somebody.

"Let's make this briefing short and sweet," Kingsley announced to the room then called out, "John, you should start."

Everyone settled down. All eyes fell upon the Auror as he recapitulated the Gaunt case related events of the past few days.

"Gaunt announced his arrival four days ago. He killed two MLE posted at Borgin and Burkes and left a note advising us that he was back in town. He was long gone before we realized the men were dead.

"In the last thirty-six hours we've had more reports of homes being broken into, some robbed, some not. The thief or thieves are taking cloaks and jewelry containing black stones. The HW's caught one suspect, a fifteen year old Muggle who was last seen walking home from school a few days ago. There was evidence of will tampering on him. Gaunt appears to be using the innocent to do dirty work for him again."

"And the professor's wand?" Unspeakable Max enquired anxiously.

"No attempts to steal it have been made. Headmistress McGonagall is starting to question our continued presence in Hogwarts," Humptail responded and proceded to look at his pager that had gone off mid sentence, excusing himself and leaving the room.

"What about Burkes?" Hermione asked..

John answered, "No luck there either. His counsels have managed to get us off his back. With Dodgey being a close call he has been more cautious. He hasn't attempted to contact Dodgey at all and we're staying off him hoping Gaunt will. Gaunt is wise not to."

"Why isn't he making a move?" one of the Canadian's spoke through international Floo.

It was obvious.

Harry replied, "He knows we're watching."

"But he can command an army to get the wand for him."

"True," John agreed, "Maybe he hasn't figured out a way to get through the Hogwarts wards yet."

"Or maybe he has but he's waiting for the right moment. He has to do it himself," Max spoke up.

"What do you mean?" Kingsley asked.

"Wandlore. The Elder wand, more so than any other wand, has to deem its possessor worthy," Max answered in a reverent tone that reminded him so much of how the wandmaker Ollivander once spoke of the Death Stick, "For centuries possession of this particular wand has been associated with violence, oft times with the death or defeat of its previous owner in the hands of its latest master. Without wrestling for its loyalty, its powers cannot be harnessed by its wielder fully."

"But if we think the Professor was its master after Grindelwald, that can't happen," John said to the group, "The Professor has been dead for years."

"If wandlore is correct then the mastership of the wand transferred to the wizard who murdered the Professor."

"Severus Snape was killed during the battle of Hogwarts," Hermione was quick to answer.

Max had a ready answer to that, "Yes, by a beast that's incapable of wielding it. The snake would have never gained its allegiance. If the wand is indeed in the tomb it has been there for five years and has been without a living master for quite sometime. Will it bow fully to a common thief or will it demand an act of greatness from its would-be master? No one knows for sure. Yes, he will want to take it himself and unaided. He will not want to take the chance that the wand will not work properly for him. At least that is what I will think if I were him."

"Or we could be lucky," Warren began, looking over to where he sat, ignoring the glare Hermione was giving him, "Maybe, Gaunt thinks the wand's master still lives."

"How?" the Canadian Unspeakable asked.

"The snake killed Snape because it was ordered to do so by its owner..."

The Deputy Unspeakable interrupted as it dawned on him what Warren was getting at, "Voldemort could have been the wand's master!"

Warren cast him a reprimanding glare for interrupting and made a futile correction, "Gaunt could think that Voldemort was the wand's master until Harry killed him. In which case, he'll want to challenge Harry and Harry will kick his ass."

All eyes were suddenly upon him, some with curiosity, others with amazement, still others like he was some dessert that had to be had. Harry found it amusing how as much as that their logic wasn't entirely accurate there was enough truth in it that the mastership of the wand still ended up pointing to him. Imagine that.

Hermione wasn't finding it as amusing as he was. She was in near tears from anger and frustration.

"Let him come then and let's get this over with," Harry responded in a flippant manner, not caring what it meant but just that he could actually put an end to all this.

His remark caused a bit of a mayhem.

"Harry!" Hermione cautioned.

"Now we're talking," Warren cheered. "We should let Gaunt know, advertise...ow!"

Warren winced and glared at Hermione who must have hexed him.

"That's not possible!"

"That is possible, in fact more possible than a masterless wand!" Jericho said, absolutely blinded by the possibility.

"How can you do that?" this was Max talking to him in a voice that drowned the rest, "How can you just sit there calmly and not claim the most powerful wand ever created when you are perhaps its Master!"

Hermione bit his head off, "Because unlike the rest of you he's decent and knows that true or not it would be absolutely wrong to violate the Professor's tomb. It's just a wand! One doesn't have to possess it to be a great wizard!"

"But he could be greater!" Jericho argued.

"He will be and he won't need the wand to do that!"

"Maybe we should take it out of the tomb and have Auror Potter use it," the Canadian Unspeakable was mental.

This encouraged his Brit counterpart, "Harry can test it."

She lost it, "Yeah, he can use it to try to make you less stupid!"

"Hermione," he warned her as the Canadians found the exchange amusing.

Embarrassed, Jericho defended himself, "Did you just call me stupid?!"

"Don't take it personally. It's not just you," Hermione was on a roll, "I think all the grown men in here acting like boys wanting the most powerful wand in fairy tale land are stupid."

The room fell silent with the exception of Warren sniggering beside her. Harry was quite worried. If she didn't stop there would be hell to pay.

"No need for insults in this room, Hermione," Kingsley scolded her, trying to settle her down.

"If it's the only thing that can get through to some of you...!" she glowered at the Unspeakables who glowered back.

"The wand needs a master," the Canadian Head Auror weighed in, "Auror Potter is the most likely person it will find worthy. He has an obligation to protect it from falling into the wrong hands."

"It's not about the wand! This is about the evil wizard you Canadians keep losing who wants to play in our backyard!"

Hermione continued to fight off the suggestion that they had argued about before she went undercover. Her complete 180 on the topic of him using the Elder wand was surprising and he wondered what made her so steadfastly against it now. And while the Canadian Auror's suggestion of the wand needing a master and that it was his obligation to protect it from the Gaunts of the world hit a spot, Harry had to put an end to this before Hermione got herself into deeper and hotter waters.

"Get a grip, all of you. I agree with Hermione. It's a fairy tale. The wand belongs to the Professor. His tomb is where it should be. You can forget about removing it in the guise of having me test it or use it. I will not. So let's take our heads out of the clouds and focus on how to capture Gaunt."

"Harry is right," Kingsley said with a finality, "Whether the tale is true or not shouldn't prevent us from doing what's right. The wand stays with the Professor; end of discussion. Warren, tell us what's been happening on your end."

Kingsley's decision significantly cooled the room down. He caught the exchange between the Unspeakables in the room. Hermione was spot on not to trust the two.

Warren shared what he had, "A man who calls himself Gregory Pasturin has been in touch a couple of times at home by Muggle phone. His story is he's a Canadian, that he recently found out he was adopted and is trying to trace his biological father's family. He said he was looking for long lost relatives who could answer some questions."

Hermione continued where Warren left off, "The name is an obvious anagram. We are positive it's Gaunt. He says that he would be in the area within the next few days and was wondering if we could meet for a few minutes. We've agreed, in principle."

"When was last contact?" Harry asked.

"Two days ago," Hermione fielded his question.

Something was not right. Harry couldn't say what it was exactly but something felt off to him.

"Are you sure he hasn't made you?"

"We have no reason to think he has."

"Why doesn't he send someone to rob you like he has done with the rest?" the Canadian Auror asked a good question.

Warren replied, "He has; the day before he called when we were both 'at work'. His thief came up empty."

"He has been quiet, too quiet. It's as if he's waiting for something to happen, to be in place before he makes his big move."

Warren dismissed his worries, "And we'll be ready when he does. That brings us to when he does make contact. He will scan Hermione's thoughts for pieces of information first and..."

"Wait," Harry interrupted, "You're going to allow him to look into your mind? I really don't like the sound of that."

She answered, "There's no choice. He will suspect something is amiss if he isn't able to."

"Can you not just arrest whoever it is that shows up?" Jericho suggested.

John answered, "He could send a decoy or be in disguise. It's the only way to get him to stay long enough so we can confirm that it is him and make sure everyone is in place. We won't get many opportunities like this. We have to be successful this one go."

"It can't be the only way," Harry was pissed, angry that no one mentioned this before, "Once you let him into your mind he could find something in there he doesn't like and use you. Or he'll just use you for no reason except for his amusement. We need to rethink this plan over!"

"Harry, calm down," Warren tried to placate him, "She has enough info to feed him and enough skill to keep him pre-occupied while we get everyone in place."

He disagreed, "It's too risky!"

"The risk is part of my job," Hermione said to him, determined to do it, " I can do this. And I can fight him off, if need be."

Arguing with her at this stage and in front of this crowd was pointless. He still didn't like it and would talk to her offline if she would even discuss it, which he doubted.

The Canadians had Aurors on standby and could send them as soon as Warren or Hermione gave the signal. The meeting was over so they left, trusting that Warren would keep them in the loop about other developments.

Kingsley got up and said, "if nobody has anything else..."

"Actually, there is one other thing I almost forgot to mention," Hermione spoke up acting embarrassed, "We need something tangible for when Gaunt comes. We need a hook to get his mind started off in the right direction. We're hoping the DOM can help us."

She turned to the Unspeakables in the room. Help from the DOM? What was she up to?

"Anything to catch this criminal," the Head Unspeakable replied for the record.

"After the battle of Hogwarts, the Ministry did a sweep of the Forbidden Forest in and around the area Voldemort and his group were camped at. A crate full of Death Eater belongings was sent to the DOM following clearance by the MLE. You have in your possession a black stone cracked along its midline, the one that looks like what Gaunt is looking for."

There was momentary dead silence. He tried not to look too shocked but doubted very much if anyone would have noticed since there was a more obviously surprised person in the room.

"How did you know?!" Max couldn't contain his initial reaction.

"It wasn't easy," she answered, "A technical glitch seemed to have wiped the records of the crate contents from the Ministry database. Fortunately a meticulous Auror thought it important to send paper copies to classified archives."

No wonder they could not find the stone. The Unspeakables had it alll this time and Hermione was now trying to get it back. Judging from Warren's reaction he was in on this political maneuver. It may have been him who picked up the thought from one of the Unspeakables and told Hermione about it. The classified archives bit was hogwash. That was Hermione trying to prevent the Unspeakables from knowing about Warren's ability. And she had the presence of mind to wait until the other Canadians left before opening the can of worms. Come to think of it, Humptail wasn't in the room either.

Warren carried on for her, "We'll need that stone with us when he makes contact."

"Absolutely not!" Max protested.

"Why not?" Hermione seemed prepared for that, "According to DOM records it's a worthless common stone."

"It's not just a common stone!" the deputy Unspeakable said much more than he should have.

"What is it then?" Kingsley joined in, directing his question to the stoic Head Unspeakable.

Jericho had knew better than to lie, "We believe it's the Peverell stone."

"It is the Resurrection stone. It is just as how it has been described in books and journals!" Max rambled off despite warnings from his boss not to say anymore.

Jericho tried to throw them off, "We have not been able to prove that. We have not been able to raise anyone from the dead with it."

Interesting. Or maybe the Unspeakable was protecting it and his ass. It would be harder to explain why they didn't offer the evidence to the group if they believed it was the Peverell stone. But true or not, what Jericho said actually worked in their favour.

"If it looks like the stone and isn't the stone then it's perfect," Harry pointed out, "We'll borrow it. Hermione will wear it in a necklace or something visible and distract Gaunt with it."

"Absolutely not! It's too valuable to lose!" Max yelled at him.

That did it for him; he got on his feet and in a carefully measured but threatening tone responded, "You won't risk losing a stone but it's okay to let an Auror risk losing control of her mind?!"

Kingsley intervened "Harry! I got this! Leo, I want that stone for their use, no ifs or buts. Where is it?"

"In my office safe."

"I'm coming with you to get it right now. This meeting is adjourned," Kingsley declared, then turned to the undercover Aurors, "How soon before you two need to go back?"

Warren gave Hermione a look and replied for the two of them, "Tomorrow."

He ordered, "See me before you go back. I'll have the stone ready for you. Let's go, Leo. John, Harry, come with me."

Harry could not blame Kingsley for the level of distrust he had for the DOM. They were capable of dastardly things and hiding the Peverell stone from the rest of them was proof that they weren't playing on the same team.

On his way out he overheard her thank Warren.

"You owe me. That's twice today," Warren responded, "Go home"

"I can't. I have to make sure."

"Harry has that covered. Get some rest. Frankly, you look like shit."

He heard them laugh just as he got out of the door and that made him feel worse. It was juvenile but he had to talk to her, to touch her, to kiss her, to know that nothing had changed.

But he couldn't do that right now. Right now he had absolutely no time for jealousy or insecurity. The stone. He had to get the stone from the Unspeakables. Hermione had done her part. It was his turn.

Just before they went into the Head Unspeakable's office, Kingsley wordlessly instructed him to keep an eye on Max.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione woke up to incessant ringing. She reached for her phone that was on the sidetable and answered.

"Finally," a familiar woman's voice greeted.

"Ginny?"

"I've been trying to reach you all afternoon. What are you doing tonight?"

She sat up and oriented herself. Grimmauld was very still and it was dark out. There was loud music and lots of chatter on the other end of the phone.

"I have to talk with, Harry,” she told the truth, “What time is it?"

"Almost six. I'm at the Burrow and Harry’s here. Come on over."

Harry was there. Of course he would be. Ginny and the team were in town and Mrs. Weasley was hosting an impromptu dinner for family and close friends. She told Ginny she’d be there.

She got out of bed and made her way to the bathroom. Splashing cool water on her face, she examined herself on the mirror. Warren was right; she looked like shit. Five days on alert and sleep deprivation had taken its toll. When she got home from the Ministry around one she went straight into bed and crashed thinking and hoping Harry would come home and wake her up as soon as he got the stone.

The stone; did he get the stone? She quickly got her phone and scanned for calls and messages. There was none from him but as she listened to Warren asking her to call him back, something on her dresser caught her eye. It was an old moleskin pouch. Harry had scribbled a note on the parchment beside it.

I couldn't bear to wake you. See you tonight.

She remembered feeling him stroking her hair and kissing her but she thought that had been a dream. She missed him so much and really needed to talk to him. Staying in London tonight was necessary for her sanity. If not for that she and Warren would have gone back already.

Hermione emptied the pouch onto her hand and out tumbled the imperfect black stone with the Peverell coat of arms. Relief washed over her. She was certain the story about what happened after Kingsley took it from Jericho would be interesting but that have to wait. Her guess was that Kingsley felt it wise not to keep it in the Ministry where someone could steal it back.

It was curious that the Unspeakables claimed it didn't do what it was supposed to do. It made her wonder whether someone had already switched a fake for the real one or if Jericho was fibbing to not get in trouble.

There was only one way to find out. She clasped it tightly in the palm of her hand and closed her eyes as she turned her hand over and back thrice. Her heart started beating faster. She was no longer alone.

Hermione turned around and faced her father.

"Hi Dad," she said quietly.

"Hi kiddo."

He smiled back, the sorrow on his face when he passed away still evident underneath the mask he was trying to put on for her, or maybe that was her and her guilt imagining things.

"How are you?" she asked.

"I'm fine. And you?"

"Just fine."

"Still with him?"

She nodded, "I'm sorry..."

He dismissed it, "Don't be. It was unfair of me to ask. But I hope you do understand why I did."

She nodded again, tears streaming down her face as she remembered that day he died.

"I don't want you to get hurt like your Mum did.," he said it again, "You love him too much. You'd do anything for him. You need someone who will love you back and more. You deserve someone who does."

The reality of his observation brought about this gnawing ache within her chest.

She replied, choking back the pain. "I can't change what I feel and I can't chose who I feel it for."

"I know."

"Thank you for understanding."

It was what she needed to hear from him, the reason she brought him back. Hearing it she found the courage that she had been searching for for days. His understanding had always been important for her and having it now was closure.

"Just don't lose sight of who are. Don't compromise who you are for him or because of him.," he advised. "Your Mum did that for me and she was never the same after. Many times I wondered what would have happened if she didn't take me back after the affair, if she would have been as happy as she was before I broke her. But I was too selfish and too afraid to be alone."

"She loved you, Dad. She was happiest with you."

"Tell her I love her."

"I will, although I know she knows."

"Is there anything else, sweetie?"

She took a big breath in and exhaled. He would be the first she would tell.

"Actually yes. I have some good news," she found her most positive voice, "I'm pregnant with Harry's baby."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. The next chapter will be interesting to write. Big HHr scene coming up.

When I re-read DH it seemed that the stone was no longer on the ring. And here we see how low these Unspeakables can go. Hope that was believable.

37. The Ring

A/N. Your reviews have been very helpful in so many different ways. I appreciate the time you take to write them.

My muse was on holidays this week and I struggled with this. Not much about the case in this one. It’s a full plate of Harry, Hermione, Warren and Ginny.

For those who read the Sacrifice – the title of this chapter refers to that ring.

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Chapter 37 – The Ring

The familiar sight and sound of a Weasley family affair greeted Hermione as she appeared beside the broom shack in the backyard. Even from a distance she could hear loud laughter (likely from one of George's jokes) and the bustling clatter of forks and knives against plates. Dinner was underway. She caught a whiff of Mrs. Weasley's excellent home cooking and that immediately drew a reaction from her companion.

"This is what you had to live up to? No wonder you had scruples with Ronnie."

She turned to him, unsure if Warren meant to insult her or Mrs. Weasley but wanted to make certain he wouldn't do the latter.

"The Weasleys are decent folk," she reminded him sternly, "Behave yourself or I will un-invite you."

"Too late, I'm already in," he retorted, "And besides, this is because you owe me, remember?"

Warren was the only guy she knew who would do decent things in exchange for favours and would actually collect on them. This particular one was for agreeing to her request to spend the night in London.

"Why did you want to come anyway?" she asked, walking up the path to the back door, "This isn't your kind of party."

"Are you kidding me? I like big, happy family parties," he totally lied.

"Bullshit."

"Love it when you talk dirty."

She faced him squarely to get his full attention, "Seriously."

He looked her in the eye and said wistfully, "You have lots of happy memories of this place. I wanted to see what it's really like."

He was acting. There were definite downsides to working this closely with him. He knew a lot more about her now, things she wished he didn't. She knew private things about him too that he had already voiced his regrets sharing. This was part of the sacrifice the Hag convinced them make so they could work together. The Hag, in her infinite manipulative way, challenged their 'commitment' when they first refused and, when Warren agreed, she had to follow suit. After a few mental exercises, they had no choice but to completely trust each other.

"You want to meet the Harpies and..." she read his thoughts and her face immediately crumpled in disgust, "Ew!"

He laughed, purposely sharing that thought because he enjoyed it when she reacted to his lack of propriety, "Well, except for your friend. She's too hung up on you-know-who it won't be fun. I try to stay away from damaged goods."

"Two of them are married!"

"The married ones usually perform the best,” he explained matter-of-factly.

Hermione just shook her head and drew a calming breath in. It took a lot of energy not to judge and she couldn't anymore, not after what the Hag put them through.

She led them down the footpath to the back door. This mental connection forged over the course of hours with the Hag was still eerie and disconcerting. It was necessary, their mentor said, for them to be able to communicate this way if they wanted to be successful against the cerebral terrorist that Gaunt was. It was a skill similar to Legilimency but non-offensive in nature and involved giving each other access to each other’s minds.

It proved handy earlier at the Minister's Office. She picked up what Warren discovered from the Deputy Unspeakable’s thoughts when they arrived. The DOM had recently found out they had the Resurrection Stone and the Unspeakables intended to keep it secret. Their immediate concern was retrieval but Warren didn’t trust the Canadian Minister with the information either. The whole clandestine assignment didn’t sit well with him but he did it because he was not given a choice. The Canadians had to be excluded from the loop and Humptail too. Humptail was one that Warren couldn’t read and they were unsure what his intentions and where his loyalties were. This was moments before the meeting and she spent time on the phone with Dean finding a good way to get Humptail to leave.

"We're at a party. Can we stop thinking about work?" Warren complained.

"We're not at work. You promised not to listen in, or did you forget?"

"I promised to try not to."

"Tune me out," she suggested.

"Believe me I'm trying," he argued back.

Mrs. Weasley was the first to see them as they entered the kitchen. She was in her best apron and looking every bit the Mum she was when she had family over.

"Hermione, dear!" she exclaimed, giving her the familiar motherly embrace, "You finally got here. You're just in time for dinner."

"Sorry I'm late," she issued the token apology. She set her stuff down on a nearby table, something she did out of habit. The Burrow had been a home away from home for her for a long time and it showed, "I got tied up at ..."

She didn't finish for Mrs. Weasley noticed Warren beside her, "And who are you?"

"Warren Gates," he introduced himself, smiling, turning on his charm on the older woman, "It's a pleasure."

"And who are you to her?" she asked politely but a bit pointedly, scrutinizing him like she did potential Ron-replacements.

Warren was unflappable, looked over and deferred the question to her.

"I work with him," she answered simply.

"I thought Dean was your partner," Mrs. Weasley turned to her, confused.

"There's a few of us," Warren was eager to answer now. "She likes having multiple partners."

There was a tone of amusement in his voice. He was trying to see how far he could get Mrs. Weasley worked up. Hermione looked at him and he merely grinned.

That was lame.

I thought it was funny.

Stop messing with her.

I don't think she got what I meant. And besides, it wasn’t only her I was trying to mess with.

Being in this state concerned a significant amount of trust between them both and considerable fortitude on her part. The man’s mind outside of work was foul and offensive. And today was the first time since the Hag session he was acting like the complete asshole he usually was. For his amusement, he was challenging her resolve not to lose it and he bet her he could make her lose control before the night was over. She hated losing a bet.

"Well, there are a couple of empty chairs beside Percy over there," Mrs. Weasley motioned to the end of the even longer than usual table then announced, "Everyone, Hermione's here with Mr. Gates."

"Warren," he corrected.

This was followed by a seemingly endless journey to their seats as people said hello. Mr. Weasley looked well. He was at the head of the table, Mrs. Weasley to his right, the Harpies Team Manager to his left. George and Angelina smiled and waved from across the table, Bill and Fleur did the same and the Harpies players introduced themselves. No Ron and no Charlie tonight. Apparently they couldn't make it to dinner but were coming to watch the game tomorrow.

Hermione saw Harry seated midway down the table beside Ginny. It was great and not so great to see her. Ginny got up from her seat with a curious expression on her face and they hugged each other while Hermione's eyes wandered over to find Harry's. There was as much strain in them as she felt.

Ginny whispered in her ear with disapproval, "Now there's an interesting reason to be late."

She pulled away with a frown. Ginny was talking about Warren.

"We're not..."

"Ginny," Warren greeted, standing right beside Hermione, leaning slightly into her.

"Warren," Ginny replied coldly.

They knew each other. Ginny associated him with the 'Harry' that hurt her so naturally disliked him. Harry was on his feet too.

"Harry," she said to him.

"Hermione," he said back, unsmiling.

They hugged their usual public hug but she had to consciously let go. She craved for more of him, him alone and away from this.

"Hermione and I are famished," Warren said out loud, "That pot roast is just what I'm craving for."

Warren emphasized ‘craving’ unnecessarily which she ignored. Ginny gave her the signal that she desperately needed to talk in private. Hermione desperately wanted to avoid that.

Dinner went agonizingly slow, at least at their end of the table. She tuned out Warren's open flirtation with the team Beaters while she expressed her frustration at Percy about the years of construction hoarding in the Ministry Atrium that was causing daily bottlenecks to and from work. Audrey, his wife, sat between them, her eyes glazing over instantly which was a most normal reaction by most when Percy talked about his work.

Hermione found it hard to listen to Percy too. Her attention gravitated to Harry and Ginny. Ginny was sharing stories of the most fun things they did with another Harpies couple and hearing Harry laugh easily about them was very troubling.

Warren leaned over and requested more explicitly, "Quit doing that?"

"Mind your own business," she snapped at him.

If you don't want to hear my thoughts, stop listening.

They had very little secrets from each other, maybe even none at all. And it wasn't just facts but emotions. Warren had complained bitterly how she was torturing him with thoughts about her personal life. He had to put up with her as much as she had to put up with him.

"The selection of the artist is a huge undertaking," Percy droned on, "There are literally hundreds of applicants and recommendations that we have to go through..."

"The woman at the lingerie store pretended like she didn't see what we just did," she heard Ginny say then add over the laughter, "We figured we weren't the first couple she'd seen...you know..."

Warren nudged her, a plate of potatoes in hand, “Eat.”

She put her fork down on her half eaten roast and shook her head. The queasiness in her stomach had grown exponentially in the last minute.

Warren put his fork down too and muttered, "Great. There goes my appetite."

"We've narrowed the selection to ten," Percy concluded his monologue, "We're very close to a decision."

"The Harpies are going to win..." she heard the Team Coach predict from further down the table.

"Ginny's playing really well..." said the Manager to Mr. Weasley.

"We used to love to fly together..." that was Ginny again.

The voices kept coming and replaying in her head. She didn't feel so good.

"Excuse me."

Making for the bathroom quickly, she politely responded to those who enquired that she was okay. But she wasn’t. She was very nauseous. She spent a few minutes expecting to hurl but couldn't and didn't. Ginny rapped on the door as she splashed her face with cold water.

"It's me. Let me in"

Refusing would only mean more curiosity. She opened the door and Ginny joined her, their reflections bouncing off the mirror they were facing. The sharp contrast of her friend's vibrant attractive appearance to her ashen, haggard face struck her immediately. This was what Harry was seeing. How could he ever choose her over Ginny?

"What's wrong?"

"I'm just tired."

She was tired of fighting off the insecurities that plagued her when Harry was around Ginny.

"Tough case?"

She nodded, "Speaking of which it’s unlikely I’ll be at the game tomorrow."

And because she couldn't she had to tell her tonight. She wasn't prepared to tell her tonight. She felt like throwing up again.

"It's okay. You never liked Quidditch anyway," Ginny jibed with a knowing tone; there was no need to deny that truth.

They got out of the bathroom. The guests had moved into the sitting room and they had the kitchen to themselves. They made tea and chatted. Ginny did most of the talking, about what her life was like now, the popularity and the craziness that went with it, about how she wished sometimes that she could just play Quidditch without it but realized it was part of all the hype that made the sport the way it was. It seemed like it would be a good time to talk about Harry.

"What's new with you?"

She shrugged, "Not much."

That is not counting the fact that I'm in love with Harry and having his baby which he knows nothing about.

"So, what's with you and Warren?"

"Nothing,” she dismissed easily, “He's a prick, we both know that. What's with you and Harry?"

"I don't know. He's been acting weird these past few days, like he wants to tell me something that he can’t," Ginny shared, perplexed, "Actually I was going to do something crazy and I wanted to run it by you."

Hermione was sure she didn't want to hear it but Ginny was already telling her.

"Spending time with him this past week has been enlightening to say the least. I still love him," she declared what Hermione already knew, "I think he still loves me too."

"That makes two of us," she couldn't help but agree.

"I know I can live with the fact that he can't tell me everything about his work. I actually have for five months. I'm also okay with who he is now, and what he and he can't talk about with me," Ginny spoke candidly, "I want to ask him to take me back. What do you think?"

Hermione’s calm exterior masked the turmoil she felt within. What does she think about her best friend asking her secret boyfriend to take her back?

Knowing how beguiling and convincing Ginny could be her gut screamed ‘no’. What if Ginny asked and he said yes? She was so close to claiming her tenuous ‘ownership’ of his affection but a calmer voice of reason prevailed. It was presumptuous to think she owned his affection. She had no proof and therefore owned nothing.

And she couldn’t tell Ginny not to do it, not when there was a chance this was what Harry wanted and that he would take Ginny back. There was obviously something very wrong with her for thinking that way but she thought it anyway.

"You don't think it's a good idea, huh?" Ginny sensed her hesitation.

"What if he says 'no'?"

"What if I don't do it and he ends up marrying this other girl when I'm the one he really loves? What if he's just waiting for me to ask? What if he says 'yes'?"

"Good point," she sipped her tea and swallowed hard.

"It's the only way to find out how he really feels about me."

"Then you should do it," she said to Ginny.

The little encouragement was all Ginny needed, "No guts no glory, right? Wish me luck."

Cackles of girly laughter interrupted them. A couple of Ginny's teammates had overheard.

"Is this about getting Harry back?" Druhilda, the blonde Seeker and team elder, asked.

Ginny had obviously confided her woes with some of her teammates too. Her friend confirmed, her anxiety building up from thinking of doing what she was about to do.

She sought more advice, "Should I ask him tonight or tomorrow after the game?"

"I'd say tonight," the Chaser, Trudie suggested, handing Ginny a shot of firewhiskey, "If practice today was any indication you're pretty useless with this in your head."

"I agree with Trudie," Druhilda concurred and handed Ginny another shot which the latter drank as quickly as the first, "Get it done and over with, even better if you do it now. I honestly don't understand what you see in him. He's boring. He’s in there, working.”

They all chuckled, Hermione included.

Ginny sighed, "How do I look?"

Perfect.

"As smashing as always," her teammate answered honestly.

"You have nothing to worry about," the other one said, "He won't stand a chance."

"Right," Ginny replied uneasily, less confident than her teammates were, "It's now or never."

Their eyes followed her through the swinging doors. Harry had been in an animated discussion with Warren when Ginny interrupted. Then they disappeared from view, off to the one place in the house they would get privacy.

"Her bedroom," Druhilda laughed, "The little minx!"

Ginny summed it up. No guts, no glory.

It struck her that it was cowardice on her part to let Ginny do this. Ginny was braver than she was. She had guts and she would deserve the glory. Hermione should have asked Harry a long time ago how he truly felt about her. If things didn't go her way tonight she only had herself to blame because she was a fucking coward.

"So Hermione, tell us," Trudie said with mischief in her tone, "Is that Canadian Bacon yours or did you bring him to the party for everybody to sample?"

"Sample away," she replied knowing Warren wouldn't mind her saying that, though she did put in a word of caution, "Do remember that bacon may taste great but too much is bad for your health."

That made the girls laugh. They joined the others in the sitting room and mingled with the Weasleys. She needed to be distracted but they talked way too much about Quidditch and men. Steering herself away from them and avoiding Percy, she joined Mr. Weasley in his discussion with the Harpies manager about how they should learn marketing from Muggle professional sports.

Hermione half attended to the conversation as her thoughts were on what was taking them so long. It was close to half an hour. Harry would know that it would be inappropriate to spend that much time in his ex's bedroom especially with his ex in there with him. Ginny was pretty direct. She would have asked the question right away. How long does it take to say 'no'?

Dread was turning into panic and some other emotion she couldn't identify. The air thinned and the room began spinning around her.

"Are you okay?" someone asked.

"I'm fine," she replied, steadying herself, holding on to some sturdy dragon art beside her that the Weasleys must have picked up recently from Romania.

Laughter caught her attention. Druhilda had just said something hilarious to the team Beaters.

"Half an hour. I can't imagine them talking for that long," Beater one laughed, "Or doing anything that long."

“Maybe Ginny is showing him something,” one of them suggested suggestively.

"He must be getting the grand tour!"

More laughter.

"She's going to be wasted for the game tomorrow," Beater two chuckled, "Somebody should remind her to go easy."

"Pardon the pun but screw the game. The kid needs to have some fun," Druhilda dismissed, "She deserves it."

Hermione couldn't breathe. She had the singular thought of going to Ginny's bedroom and barging in. Her legs were already moving in that direction when a man blocked her path.

"Have some pumpkin juice," Warren said firmly, his eyes boring into hers.

Get a grip. It may not be what you think it is.

It's been half an hour! I need to know!

Ask him later. This is not the place or time.

Get the fuck out of my way!

The deal was we could stay tonight so you could do what you have to do and be focussed for Gaunt. Making an ass out of yourself will not do that. And do you really think he is capable of doing that to you? The guy's a fucking saint!

What could he be possibly doing in there with her alone for half an hour?!

You know him like the back of your hand. You tell me.

"Have some pumpkin juice," he repeated, shoving the glass in her hand.

Warren didn't know what Ginny was capable of. The mere thought that Harry and Ginny were...well, it was enough to set her off again. She gritted her teeth and fought off the tears as she took the drink from him and drank it, the cool juice washing away the lump in her throat. He took the empty container from her as he quickly downed his firewhiskey and Evanescoed the glasses away.

This was all her fault. She wanted to leave. She couldn't stand the wait.

"No, you're not leaving to wallow in self pity," Warren picked that up, "Come on, let's dance."

He was pulling her to the centre of the room even before he finished telling her.

"What! No, let's not..." she protested as she was being dragged to certain embarrassment.

"Why not?"

Eyes were starting to follow them and her mind had totally shifted to the more immediate task of preventing what was about to happen

"Because no one is dancing!" she hissed between her teeth.

"We'll be the first then," he shrugged, "This music is good. R. Kelly is one my favourites."

He started swaying to the beat, oblivious to the stares and howls of the people in the room while she stood in front of him, literally frozen in shock.

"Well? What are you waiting for?"

"You call that dancing?" she was trying her best to keep a straight face; it didn't look like he was.

"It's more than what you're doing which I believe is called 'standing'," he yelled over the beat and did this arm waving thing that was popular decades ago. That made the crowd cheer and she had to shake her head and laugh. He was playing to them and was not embarrassed at all. George turned up the music and a few people joined them on the 'dance floor', "Come on. I can hear the Harpies Seeker thinking of joining me. You'll lose your spot. No one, I mean no one, has ever refused to dance with me before!"

"I suppose they did it out pity."

"Quit the yapping and dance," he ordered good-naturedly.

She relented, his earlier annoying coercion now a welcome diversion. He was right. There was nothing to worry about. Harry would never do that to her. She was having his baby. Reality wouldn't be so cruel. Maybe Ginny was just showing him her um...collection of Quaffles. They should be back soon.

Harry didn't dance so she had not danced in a while. Letting her body go with the flow of the music was liberating and she kept on dancing with Warren, who she realized was goofing around earlier and was actually a good dancer. The first song flowed into the next seamlessly and into the next.

At some point George, their designated DJ, put on a slow number. She had to draw the line.

"I think I'll sit this one out," she said to him.

"What are you afraid of?" Warren asked, probing her for the truth.

For a split second she considered doing it just to prove that she wasn't afraid of anything but that was exactly what he wanted her to do.

I am not afraid of anything.

Prove it. Dance this song with me.

You're hitting on me to piss me off. How low can you go?

If I were hitting on you I would be hitting on a woman I know is pregnant with another man's child. That would be an all time low for me.

He was smiling at her.

He was messing with her.

He was an asshole.

Time's up, Waterloo. Your boyfriend's coming. He's not very happy.

"Is there a problem?" Harry greeted, glaring at Warren openly.

"No," she replied, not wanting unnecessary trouble, "We were just dancing."

"Killing time," Warren explained with derision in his voice, "Keeping her sane while you were busy in your ex-girlfriend's bedroom."

Harry's reaction to what Warren just said was bone chilling. Her partner wasn't giving her anything to see but as far as she knew Warren couldn't get into Harry's mind either. Did Warren know what happened in Ginny's bedroom?

She was surprised that she couldn't face Harry and talk to him right now. She was angry at him for even going with Ginny and was having problems breathing again. She couldn’t stop thinking about what he and Ginny could have done in Ginny’s bedroom.

"I'm taking her home now," Harry said to Warren coldly, "Thanks for covering for me tonight."

"No problem. 0600 hours sharp, Granger. Don't lose too much sleep," Warren reminded her and turned away.

They said their goodbyes to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and left the party discreetly using work as their alibi. They didn't say a word to each other on their way home, this enormous tension filling the silence between them. They Disapparated separately.

At Grimmauld, Harry followed her up the stairs to their bedroom. Feeling the nausea coming again, she went straight out the balcony to get some fresh air. Harry was the first to break the impasse. He walked over, stood right in front of her and made her face him, lifting her chin up so he could look directly into her eyes.

He didn't say anything at first. He just looked at her, angry and puzzled, making her wonder why he was upset at her. He was the one who stayed in Ginny's bedroom. Shouldn't she be the upset one?! Why did he even come back to Grimmauld with her? Why is he still here? Why doesn't he just say that it's over?

His hand came up her cheek and he softly brushed away the tears that had escaped without permission. He was no longer angry after that.

"Nothing happened," he said to her quietly, "She was crying and I couldn't leave her crying on her own. That's why I took so long."

"Do you still love her?" she asked in a voice that wasn't entirely hers.

"I think a part of me always will," he said honestly.

His answer hurt her. She looked away. She had to so he wouldn't see how that felt..

She said to him, "Then you should go back to her. She still loves you."

The frustration in his voice was obvious, “Why are you pushing me away?”

“You still love Ginny.”

“I can’t change that.”

“No, you can’t.”

“Do you want me to lie to you?”

“No.”

"Then what do you want? You told her to take me back. Was that your way of saying that you don't want me around anymore?!"

Hot wet tears erupted from her eyes again, "I don't want you around if you don't love me. You should be with the one you love."

"Hermione, look at me - please!" he pleaded and she gathered the courage to do so, "Don’t you see it? You are the one!”

“What…?”

“You are the one I love! You are the one I want to be with!”

“But you just said Ginny…!”

“I know what I just said and I can’t explain it in a better way. What Ginny and I had is over. I can’t change what happened. I can’t undo that I loved her first or change that a part of me that always will. But I’m with you now and this thing that I feel for you is different. This is it for me. You are it for me. For the longest time I didn’t tell you because I was afraid that you didn’t feel the same way about me, that I would spook you and that you’d run away. Well I'm done being afraid. Not telling you sooner was a big mistake."

Harry was out of breath, the despair in his voice due to his desire to make her understand. And she was trying her best to but there was too much information too fast. He said something about loving Ginny and loving her differently and not telling her because he didn't want her to run away. The perplexed reaction from her must have been obvious for he reiterated the high points less hurriedly..

“Hermione, I love you. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone else in my life. I love you forever. I love you unconditionally."

Then the floodgates opened, the dam broke, the cup runneth over. She was weeping openly. He finally said the words she had longed to hear from him and without her asking for them. It was more special that he said it on his own.

"I love you too, Harry," she managed to say coherently.

He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. They kissed; sweetly, longingly, reassuringly. Butterflies fluttered within her and carried away all her worst worries and fears. It was just like how she felt that first time at the pond; carefree, accepting and without demands or expectations. But this time was better because she knew in her heart he loved her too.

They stopped kissing and looked at each other with goofy smiles on their faces.

"So, you love me too, huh?"

She confirmed, "I love you."

"I like hearing that."

"I love you," she repeated for him, liking having the freedom to say it too..

He smiled, "And I love you. Was that good for you?"

She chuckled, "Just as I dreamt it would be. Did you say forever and unconditional?”

“I did,” Harry was amused at her mention of it, “And to prove unconditional, I love you even though you’re loopy and seem hell bent on getting rid of me by giving me back to my old girlfriend. You’re mad encouraging her to ask me."

“It was her idea,” she defended herself, “I couldn’t in good conscience stop her. I wasn’t sure what your answer would be.”

“Now you know what my answer is," he answered with her same seriousness, "Was that a test?”

“No,” she shook her head, “That was me being a coward.”

That was another thing about Ginny to feel guilty about. Hermione imagined how that scene in her bedroom played out and how hurt Ginny was when Harry turned her down, how hurt she still was and how more hurt she'd be when she finds out about them. Her cowardice cost her friend a broken heart and a bruised ego, and probably a lot more. She was a terrible friend.

Sensing her misgivings, he tried to make her feel better, “You’re not responsible for her happiness.”

He was right. She wasn’t. She was only responsible for hers and now Harry’s. Harry kissed her again, pulling her in a snug embrace as he did. They snogged under the soft moonlight, oblivious to time and to the rest of the world.

When he pulled away, Harry reached down and took something out of his pocket. It was a small, black, leather box. The sight of it instantly made her heart beat faster. She had a good guess what it was but couldn’t assume or conclude. She didn’t want to. She looked at his face, the anxious expression on him causing her to feel more uneasy.

"I stopped by Gringott's today and picked this up from the vault," he said as he took from within it a gold band set with several brilliant green stones, "It was my Mum's."

His hands were shaking; he looked so cute when he admitted, "I'm sorry. I'm very nervous. I've never done this before and haven't had the time to practice."

"Oh Harry…" she whispered.

She let joy-induced tears fall freely and found herself trembling too as he got down on one knee and gently slipped the ring into her finger. He looked up at her, his eyes an intense bright green very much like the jewels on her hand and took a moment to calm them both before speaking.

"Hermione Jean Granger, you are the most amazing woman I have ever known. My life is not the same without you. I love you and I want you in my life forever. Will you spend the rest of your life with me and be my wife?"

There was no need to think about it. If only her voice wouldn't let her down.

"Yes, Harry. Yes."

She was crying again. An overjoyed Harry scooped her off her feet and they kissed. There were no words to describe the elation she felt at the moment. Harry had just asked her to marry him and she just said yes. And they were going to have a baby.

The baby. She forgot to tell him about the baby.

Harry set her back down on her feet, "What's the matter?"

"I have something rather important to tell you," she said tensely.

"What?" he was worried.

She fidgeted.

"I know it was my responsibility and it's a very simple incantation really, I mean the spell was designed to be idiot proof for good reason. But I must have flubbed it or cast it a bit late or maybe in the moment forgot to cast it that one time...maybe a couple of times...or three.. And not to put blame on your skill or hope forgiveness through flattery but it was never a problem for me before except with you it is kind of hard to concentrate when we're. - well you get the picture."

He didn't get the picture, "Hermione, you're rambling. What are you trying to say?"

"We're having a baby."

She paused, cringed, anticipating some big negative reaction. Harry was stunned to speechlessness. She probably shouldn't have blurted it out like that but it was too late. There was intense compelling pressure to ramble on

"It's quite funny really, once you think about it, considering me being me, who would have guessed? I mean, I plan everything, to the detail, it is poetic justice of sorts that I would have an unplanned pregnancy, don't you think? Harry. Did you hear what I said?"

"You're pregnant," he answered tentatively.

"And I totally understand if this freaks you out. I freaked out when I first found out. Just ask the assistant pharmacist over at Glenhurst and Hillside. I cleaned out their entire stock of pregnancy tests and drank water like a mad woman so I would pee enough..."

"Pee?"

"On the test sticks - all seven of them because I wanted to be sure. Although I kind of knew already. I was late and the Hag wouldn't have mentioned anything if she wasn't certain but that's another story all together. And when I got home, you were asleep and I wanted to tell you, but I kind of thought what if you got really upset and didn't want to be with me anymore? So I showered and got into bed with you..."

"You were naked," he remembered.

"Yes, well, I wanted it to be memorable just in case it was our last. I fully intended to tell you after but we kind of argued and I had to leave in the morning. It just wasn't the best time to tell you we were having a baby. That's why I asked Warren if we could stay tonight so we could talk about it, only I didn't realize Ginny would be in town and then all of tonight happened," she took a breath in, "I can totally understand if you don't want to marry me anymore...okay...that's a lie. I won't understand but I'm sure you'll have a good reason - I mean you better."

He was laughing.

"Harry, are you okay?"

"I'm okay. But are you? You sound like you've gone a bit mental."

"What do you mean by...?!" she gave him a threatening look,

"In a very adorable kind of way," he qualified before she got really upset, "What are you so worried about? We're going to be parents! I'm going to be a father!"

He lifted her up and spun her around so quickly that made her want to throw up.

"Please don't do that again."

"Sorry, but this feels great!" he put her down and planted a quick kiss on her, "This is great news!"

He was a bit manic; that concerned her.

"It is?"

"I love you. I want to have children with you," he explained, "I admit, I didn’t think it would be this soon but it doesn't matter. I can't wait to tell the world! How far along are we?"

"Six weeks."

Did he say children? As in more than one? They definitely had a lot more things to talk about.

But she knew that wouldn't be for now. He got down on his knees again, caressed her belly at the spot where their child was growing and spoke to it gently as she looked on, "I love your Mum and I love you. I just found out that your Mum loves me too and she just agreed to spend the rest of her life with me. That's really a big deal. Then the biggest news of all is that we're having you. It's been a pretty amazing night for us and your Mum's been away for five whole days I really miss her..."

Harry straightened up, love and desire evident in his eyes as he gazed into hers and continued, "I want to make love with her tonight. Well, right now."

The sparkle of happiness in them was unmistakable. She made him happy and that made her happy. Gone were the insecurities of the past months. He loved her and their baby, he said so and that was enough. She had no reason to doubt him anymore.

The ring on her finger felt as if that was where it truly belonged. With him was where she truly belonged. They undressed each other and made passionate love.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know this is close to perfection.

The next chapter should be the last full one of the past. I still haven’t decided how much to show of what happened between the next chapter and the present but I think most of that will be shown through flashbacks.

I apologize to those who had hoped the pregnancy revelation scene would be more serious. I had fun writing it.

38. A Deathly Negotiation

A/N. RL excuses skipped. Thank you for your patience and to those who checked in to see if I was still alive : )

This is longer than usual - needed to answer the question of why they are not together in this chapter because I said I would (to save face). I hope it is clear enough.

This was harder to write than I anticipated. I had major writer's block - that's what happens when you get an angst writer writing/attempting to write fluff :lol:

Waterworks probability – none to slim.

My apologies in advance.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 38 – A Deathly Negotiation

Harry didn't want the night to end.

He gazed at the woman in his arms, her one arm draped lightly over his waist, the other up against his chest. Hermione, his fiancée; he couldn't help the smile on his face as he gently stroke her hair. It still felt unreal that she said yes.

"I love your Mum's ring," she said to him as she rolled the gold band in her finger.

"That's good," he chuckled softly, "Because it is yours now."

That made her laugh too.

"Harry..."

"Uh-huh?"

"I was just wondering. Why the rush?"

He had anticipated this line of questioning. This was typical Hermione, over thinking everything and he had a ready answer.

"I've known you for more than half my life and been through hell and back with you. I've actually wondered why it took me so long to do it," he replied, studying her face for traces of cold feet, "Why? Do you feel rushed?"

"Maybe ‘rush’ wasn't the right word to use. This is just very unexpected," she explained, still curious, hopefully just curious, "When did you decide?"

"This morning."

She shook her head disapprovingly, "You were always a bit impulsive."

"I prefer to think that I’m quick thinking," he joshed and then reassured her, "It felt right."

"When exactly?"

"I was watching you sleep," something within him warmed up as he remembered the moment, "I was thinking it was time to tell you how I felt about you and I didn't want to give you a moment to doubt how much you mean to me."

"Was I that obviously insecure?"

"Kind of," he kissed her gently then continued, "There was that and I figured that would be the best way to discourage the poachers you've been attracting."

“Poachers? Who? Warren?” she had an incredulous look on her face.

“He’s working you and you don’t see it,” he warned her, concerned at how unaware she was .

Harry recalled his frustration of her attentiveness to Warren at the meeting and at the party. There was something about how they were now that was quite different from how they were before and it irritated him that she had a platonic 'male friend' who defended her. If this was how Ron felt about him being around, he had renewed respect for his best friend for not telling him off.

“Give me a little credit. I would know if someone was ‘working’ me,” she replied confidently, “And I never figured you to be the jealous type. “

“I'm not jealous. I'm just…annoyed,” he instantly denied but that was met by her trademark all-knowing look that he had to confess, “Okay fine - I'm jealous.”

“You have absolutely no reason to be jealous about,” she scolded him.

“You don’t find him attractive?” he asked a rhetorical question, rhetorical in a sense that even if she did, which wouldn’t be surprising, she would never admit it to him or to herself.

“Oh, please,” she answered dismissively, not really answering, “Where is this coming from?”

“I have a list, a long list," he joked, thinking this goofy approach to making her aware of his insecurities about Warren was loads better than acting like the possessive prick of a boyfriend he was tempted to fall into.

"You have a list," she chuckled as she repeated, "Since when did you make lists?"

"Must be your influence," he accused playfully, making Hermione to break into a wide grin.

"Well, I'd like to hear it."

"It'll take us all night."

She laughed easily again. He loved it that he had this power to make her laugh.

"You're going to have to prioritize then," she moved from the warmth of his embrace, lay on top of him and brushed her lips against his, her bare breasts pressing against his chest. Their kiss deepened and his arms naturally wrapped around her, pulling her closer while her fingers caressed his hair. His insecurities melted away. She smiled in the end, breathless and dreamy eyed like he was and reminded him impishly, "Your list?"

""You're purposely distracting me," he pointed out the obvious.

"I'm helping you prioritize," she reasoned innocently.

"Where to start. Let me think," he squinted his eyes as she looked on with interest, "He’s taller, richer, far more attractive and interesting."

"Size and money don’t do it for me and that last part is so not true," she rebutted.

He knew that. He just wanted to hear her say it.

"You react to Warren the same way you reacted to Ron."

"That's precisely why you have nothing to worry about. We both know what came out of that."

It was a relief that she felt that way about it too.

"You agreed to be his pretend wife."

"That's work. Arguing the point further would be a total waste of time."

Should he point out that the pretending was kind of how this thing between them started? He wondered how far the Hag pushed them during the training . On second thought, he really didn’t want to find out.

"You - um - danced with him."

“You’re jealous because we danced?” she asked with an amused expression.

“That and because he can actually dance. I can’t dance and knowing that you like to dance and danced with him absolutely kills me.”

“You're being silly.”

Silly but also absolutely honest. He had the perfect opening to get an important message across.

“I'm sorry but I gotta draw the line. You can't dance with him anymore. In fact, you can't dance with any other man without my expressed consent. Is that unreasonable?”

“A tad unjust but I guess open to discussion,” she jumped in and encouraged his absurdity, “So, who can I dance with?”

“Let me see - Mr. Weasley for sure.”

“Anyone else?”

“Ron I think I can live with.”

“Interesting choice.”

“Dean but not Seamus,” he qualified, surprised at how he felt that way, “And Teddy.”

“Now that's really scraping the bottom of the barrel. Teddy's five.”

“Yeah, well only until he hits puberty so you've got about seven or eight years. I wouldn’t trust raging hormones around you.”

They both laughed.

"I am serious about Warren, though," he said to her as their laughter died down. “I preferred it when you hated him and hexed him. Can you start doing that again?”

"I still hex him when he's being a prat," she tried to reassure him, "Warren is harmless."

"He's as harmless as an elephant in an antique shop. I know him well enough. I just didn't know he could dance," he added begrudgingly.

"Dance camps," she explained, finding something funnier in it than he did, "The woman who raised him sent him to dance camps when he was a kid."

Something ugly within him smelled blood and wanted to rip Warren's head off, the exact same feeling he had when he saw them dancing, "I won't even ask how you found that out."

"I think I know what we'll do on our next day off," she teased.

“Evil witch,” he punished her with a searing kiss, “If you do that you know you’ll only pay for it with sore toes. And you know how much I love your feet.”

“I’d sacrifice anything just to get you to dance with me,” she kissed him back then looked at him, her brown eyes filled with tenderness and joy, and said, “I love you.”

“I love you.”

He looked at her and marvelled at how he felt at that moment. Hearing her say ‘I love you’ was an absolute rush. It was a mystery to him now how he could have lived without it for the past three months and he would remember not to take the three words for granted ever again. It felt surreal but it was all true. They were going to get married. They were going to have children (she agreed to two but it was an ongoing negotiation).

Harry drew her in closer as she found a comfortable place to rest her head against him. She fell asleep. He loved watching her fall asleep. He loved watching her sleep. He loved the feel of her soft feet and how she always rubbed them against his just before dozing off.

He loved her. He loved their baby. They were going to spend the rest of their lives together. He was going to spend the rest of his life with the woman he loved and the woman he loved truly loved him back. And as much as he did not want today to end, he couldn't wait for tomorrow to begin.

XXXXXXXXX

Saul Gumonhisshoe was dozing off at his post. Being his 4th graveyard shift in five days he was bone tired and having a two week old baby at home made restful sleep a luxury these days.

He was contemplating a nap. There were five other MLE's stationed at Hogwarts with him that night, an overkill considering they were protecting some grave. Those detailed there were beginning to wonder what it was they were really protecting and from who. The mystery surrounding it was wearing thin.

A sound startled him. He heard footfalls to his extreme right and promptly investigated. It was that Canadian Auror stationed as a temp potions teacher doing his own rounds. From his seat under his invisibility cloak he watched the lanky Canuck cross the small field and past the row of trees.

Saul spoke into the comm. pod, "Teacher just went past the wards. I’m following him.”

Maintaining a safe distance, he went out to the edge of forest and saw the Canadian stop in front of the tomb they were guarding. There was something wrong. Something was definitely wrong.

He made a move to call it in to HQ but something stopped him.

“The Aurors will think you are idiots if you sound the alarm for this,” an unfamiliar voice in his head chastised, “It’s time to show them you are capable of a simple task.”

The voice was right. The Aurors thought of them as idiots already.

“Aren’t you curious what’s so important about this tomb that they need five people guarding it constantly?”

How did he know that?

“Come closer,” the voice commanded, “Let me show you.”

One by one four other figures appeared out in the clearing. What were they doing?

“You too, Saul.”

No. This is not right.

“Don’t be stubborn now. I punish insubordination severely.”

He reached for his comm. pod again but was struck by a hex from behind. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t speak, as the wizard who cursed him hovered, moonlight shining on his face. Saul had seen him before at the Ministry. He was supposed to be on their side.

“Watch. I never tire seeing this,” his foe said in a cold tone that sent shivers up his spine, “Kill each other. And put on a show will you?”

The Canadian Auror beside the tomb raised his wand and was immediately annihilated by four beams of intense green light. Saul let out a scream, imploring his colleagues to stop, to wake up, to not listen, but it was all for naught. It seemed as if they couldn’t hear him or they could but couldn't stop. They killed each other all too quickly. The best dueller, the last man standing alone, did himself in. And before Saul knew it, he was crying, begging for his life.

“I have three children...one still a baby...I’m all they have…” he sobbed, “Please, don’t kill me.”

“Okay,” the man replied, a manic glimmer shining through his eyes, “But remember, you asked for it.”

Saul could only follow with his sight as the wizard split Dumbledore’s tomb in half and removed from within it a wand, evil laughter echoing across the lake as he brandished it with flourish.

“Now let’s see if the hype about it is all true. Capio mentis!” the dark voice spoke again, invoking an obvious but unheard of spell that was meant for him, “I will release you from the bindings now and you will come closer to me.”

He felt the restraints come off and found the suggestion to approach compelling. Unable to resist, he walked over and stood beside the foreigner who was nodding with approval at the wand he had in his hand.

Saul said to him, “Who are you?”

“Names and faces are so easy to change,” was his answer, “But with this I finally can be someone. Well, soon.”

That was the beginning of the end for Saul Gumonhisshoe. He took the murderer to his home and watched his wife perform acts on another man no husband should ever witness. Then Saul was ordered to kill his wife and his children.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione swore to herself. The wand was gone. As she had thought, it was only a matter of time before it would be stolen again and it was stolen again just a couple of hours ago. The detail of five MLE's provided token resistance and all of them failed to sound the alarm.

There was one survivor. Harry was interviewing the Hit Wizard at St.Mungo's that very second, hoping to gather information about what really happened and find clues about what the perpetrator was planning next.

She was awakened by the page Harry received from Humptail about the incident half an hour ago. Falling asleep after that was impossible. She didn't have to meet Warren until six but she decided to go to the Ministry earlier and find out if there was something she could do to help. It was strange that only Harry got a page but she was sure there would be plenty to do at a time like this.

Without second thought, she put the moleskin pouch with the Resurrection stone into her purse. Then her phone rang just as she was about to leave. Her mother?

"Mum?"

"Not quite, Waterloo."

It was Warren. She had to check the number again but it was as she thought the first time.

Confused, she asked, "What's going on?"

He said quickly, "I'm out front. Open up."

The line went dead.

In that brief phone call her heart rate jumped exponentially. She didn't even remember opening the door and letting Warren in.

"Put the wand away," he said impatiently as he crossed the entrance and past the foyer.

Although almost certain it was him she couldn’t just assume.

"Prove you are who you are."

He glared at her, exasperated at the necessity.

I am who I am.

You can do better than that. The sooner you say it, the sooner we move on, the less I’ll be tempted to hex you.

Fine. I am Warren Gates, son of a dark wizard who I will forever refuse to mention by name because he doesn't deserve being mentioned at all.

Where is he now?

In hell, where I sent him.

They really should agree on a simple safe word, except Warren kept sniggering every time she mentioned 'safe word'. Why was he here? She lowered her wand and led him into the sitting room. He chose to stand.

"The Elder wand was taken, but you know that already."

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm in deep doo-doo. My wand was found at Hogwarts and you can guess what it was used for."

The murders. You were set up.

“As obvious as that is many find it difficult to believe,” he was accepting of it more than she thought he should have been, "The witness, Gumonhisshoe, fingered me in more ways than one."

Was it Gaunt?

Likely. He wants me out of the picture. Harry was right. He is up to something big and soon, which can only mean he knows more than what we think he does. He probably knows Harry has the cloak and suspects the stone is somewhere close by.

“You don’t know that!” she exclaimed reflexively, the thought quite disturbing.

Warren replied with rebuke in his tone, “No, but we’re professionals. We don't get excited about stuff like that and we discuss possibilities calmly, right?”

“Fuck off,” she settled down; he was right, “How did your wand end up with him?”

“I lost that blasted thing at the Bat Cave months ago. One of his vamps must have had it all this time.”

“Just tell Kingsley and John the truth.”

“They know the truth. It's not them I'm in trouble with. The Hit Wizards want my ass and Kingsley's hands are tied. A formal inquiry has to be launched and fuck it I'm not spending a single second in any jail. I'm being pulled off the case and being told by my superiors to disappear.”

That meant there was a huge fall out and the Canadians would no longer be involved. The MLE protected their own, sometimes with less need for proof and with a swiftness that could be unjust. The secrecy of Warren’s call and visit was necessary for it wasn't beyond reason for the MLE to tap her phone and see if the Canadian Auror would get in touch with her.

“So why haven't you disappeared?” she asked, concerned that the longer he stayed in London the more sophisticated and broad the plan to catch him would be.

He gave her a piece of parchment with a nine digit number.

“Memorize this just in case. Call me from a different phone if Gaunt makes contact,” she quickly committed that to memory, “Keep the call under twenty seconds and don’t tell anyone you have it, not even Harry. There are spies; my Unspeakables, your Unspeakables, Gaunt, the next door neighbours, the guy on the street, you get my point? I hope you won’t ever have to use it.”

“You’re not making sense,” she gazed at him intensely but she drew a blank and Warren looked away. She hated it that he could easily kick her out of his thoughts at will, “Just tell me.”

“If it goes the way I think it will you have to figure it out and do what you think is best. I can’t be a part of how you get there,” he tried to explain but she still couldn't understand, "Get Humptail on your side, he’ll be the easiest. Don't take it against Harry if he disagrees with you; he will have his reasons. Remember that Gaunt is more skilful and more powerful now than he was the last time. Make the arrest as soon as you confirm identity and do not hesitate to kill him if he gets an edge. And if you get a moment today, can you pick up my favourite shirt at the dry-cleaners?”

He was joking about the last one.

I'm not actually. You know that green one with blue stripes...

We have no time for a to-do list! Stop talking in fucking riddles like the Hag and tell me what I need to know!

It didn't make sense. If Gaunt knew Harry had the stone and the cloak as Warren suspected, why would he still want to meet Jean Peverell?

You already know, you just don’t realize it yet.

He made for the door, “I have to go.”

She followed him, her mind reeling from what he just told her. What did she know? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” he dug deep into his robes inside pocket and handed her a small item.

“What's this?”

“I believe it's called a gift bag.”

“What for?”

“Concealing gifts?” he replied; she rolled her eyes in exasperation, “Aren't congratulations in order? Or is it condolences? Nice ring. I must say it was predictable and disappointing. I expected more of you, that you wouldn’t be prone to the delusion that marriage is the ultimate declaration of love and all the eternal happiness crap that supposedly goes with it.”

He made this quoting motion as the word “love” stumbled awkwardly out of his mouth.

“This is so thoughtful of you,” she retorted with their now familiar and friendly sarcasm, fishing the object from within the bag.

“I didn’t really get it for you. It was more for me and my peace of mind,” he bantered back, "I still don't know how you can live with yourself."

It was book, a very old and worn out one with thinning and brittle pages, about twenty of them.

"Munimentum by Damoclesthenes," she read the words scribbled across the cover.

Munimentum. Her Latin was rusty but roughly it translated to...

Mental defences.

She looked up to thank Warren properly but when she did, the front door was open. He was gone.

XXXXXXXX

Harry hurried up the hall and into the Auror offices. She was still there. He knew because they just spoke on the phone. The thumping on his chest hadn't let up since finding out from Gumonhisshoe what exactly happened. He went to the Hit Wizard's house to see for himself the atrocity Gaunt was capable of. It was definitely Gaunt posing as Warren to meticulously implicate the Canadian. It was a good way to get rid of the Auror who knew him the best and Harry had a bad feeling that Gaunt was about to do something huge. He could still hear the Hit Wizard screaming his lungs out, pleading for someone to kill him.

There she was, at her desk, radiant as she carried their baby in her womb. All throughout his talk with Gummy all he could think about was that he couldn't let her, not after what happened to the other Hit wizards, to Gummy's wife and to Gummy’s children. And she'd listen to reason. She had to.

"We need to talk,” he said in her ear and motioned her over to one of the secure meeting rooms. He wasted no time getting to the point as soon as he shut the door, “I have a problem with you continuing with the Gaunt case."

"What?" she was not expecting this.

"It's too dangerous," he said with urgency.

Hermione was still confused and not pleased, "I thought we sorted that out yesterday."

"Yesterday the Elder Wand wasn't missing, four MLE's were still alive, one still had his sanity," Harry replied, "Allowing him into your mind - it's too risky."

"Risk is something we all know about when we sign on for this job."

"Gaunt made Gummy kill his entire family..."

"And that's why he needs to be stopped."

"He's now too powerful to go head to head with."

"I can handle this,” she said what he knew she would say, “What is this really about?"

He was not getting through to her. She was not getting it. He felt frustrated at the fact that she couldn't see it as clearly as it hit him. His voice got louder.

"It's about drawing the line about what you are willing to sacrifice for your job!"

Her voice got louder too, "Drawing the line? Let's see, we put our lives on the line every day. Compare this to that. What line are you talking about?!!"

“That's different!"

But she wasn’t listening anymore,

"Have you ever drawn that line?!" she challenged; he hadn't, and admittedly probably never would. She got him there, "You of all people know that this job isn't just what we do! It's who we are! It's not just a job!"

They paused, frustrated at the other. Yes, it wasn't just a job but maybe it should be; at least this one time, because it could matter. In his heart he knew he was right about this.

"I want you to give up Jean Peverell," he continued as she protested, "I want you to tell Kingsley you want off the Gaunt case. I'll take over as soon as the Harpies leave London."

She was absolutely livid to the point of speechlessness; outraged even. It was then when he felt the conversation had spiralled out of control. He could feel her digging her heels and he would stand his ground too.

She asked him harshly, glaring at him, "Are you out of your mind?!"

"Listen," he said in a controlled and quiet voice, hoping she would calm down too, "There are other ways. This way is too dangerous."

"It's my job! Not doing it doesn't make it less dangerous! Not doing it only means someone else will have to! It means you have to!"

“There's not only you to think about!” he heard himself say.

That didn’t sound right, that it had to come from him. And perhaps it was an unconscious choice to bring up their unborn child in this but he had no regrets. One of them had to and maybe that would put things in perspective for her. What was the case worth?

Her jaws were set and she was shaking her head slightly, in disbelief that he said it maybe, in disappointment probably and in anger most definitely that he did. She went off on a tirade.

"That's not fair!”

"I'm not being unfair…”

“I can’t believe you said what you just said!”

“I'm just saying that..."

“You better not be thinking that I love our baby less because I’m choosing to do my job!”

"Calm down! That's not what I meant!"

"Oh, I know! You're saying that it's okay for you to do your job but I can't because I'm pregnant!"

“Of course not!”

"I am not sick!"

"I'm not saying that you're sick!"

"Pregnancy does not make me incompetent!"

"I'm not saying you're incompetent!"

"Women have worked through pregnancies for centuries! "

"Your job is different! I can't have you and our baby anywhere near that monster! I'm asking you to be reasonable! Compromise just this once! I'm asking you to do this for me and our baby!”

She was in tears, her face showing a mesh of pain and conflict and he was only seeing that part which she couldn’t keep to herself. She heard what he said and she was thinking about it. He moved closer and embraced her as she sobbed into his chest. After some time she pulled away and gazed up to look at him.

"I'm sorry Harry but I can't. It's not right," she decided, her quiet words echoing in the room, words he was finding very hard to accept, "We can’t live in fear of what might happen, we can’t afford to, not in this job. And I don't want to have to explain to our child why I wasn't involved in putting Gaunt behind bars. I don't want my stories to be about how I stayed behind because I was pregnant and how I didn't want to be in harm's way. I want my child to be proud of me, to look up to me, just as you're proud of what your parents did. And I can't believe you're asking me this."

He wanted to say he understood where she was coming from. He did. He really did, so much so that he couldn't bring the point up for fear she would use it to convince him to let her go on with this.

But there were other things to consider that she was refusing to acknowledge. She was missing the point. It would take a split second for something bad to happen to them and he would never forgive himself if something did.

And she got it wrong about his parents, too. Yes, they defied Voldemort and were in the Order, and he was proud of them because of that but when Voldemort killed them they were in a Fidelus Charm protected house, hiding to keep him safe. There was bravery and there was just plain foolishness.

It was maddening to him that she would choose this and he let his instincts take over. He heard himself say things he didn’t think he was capable of saying.

“I can't allow it.”

She stepped back, looking at him like she had never before, “What do you mean you can't allow it?"

"You're not going anywhere near Gaunt."

She took another step back, widening the gap between them.

"What are you going to do? Order me not to like one of your men? You forget, I'm not a subordinate anymore.”

“No you're not but John made me lead Auror on the case. I'm shutting Jean Peverell down."

“You've gone mad!”

“You're not giving me a choice!”

“No, you're the one who's not giving me a choice!”

“You're going to be my wife, you're carrying our child, and I have the right to protect my family. Don't force me to do this. Tell me you'll stay away,” he pleaded with her.

But she was not budging one bit, “No."

"Then I will write you up for insubordination, recommend a suspension if I have to."

"Do what you think is best!”

She turned her back and left him in the meeting room. He left soon after, making his way to John's office.

XXXXXXXX

In a posh upscale hotel in downtown Muggle London, Morpheus Gaunt sat in the middle of his Penthouse suite sitting room with his eyes closed, cup of tea in hand, listening to Fur Elise. Classical music brought him a sense of calm. It was something that settled him down after the high of being the cause of someone's death. He needed the pause to gather himself for his meeting with destiny. It was almost time to acquire the final pieces of the triad he had been seeking and make history. In less than twenty-four hours the Hallows would be united and for the first time Death would have a master.

"Mr. Gaunt," Caractakus Burkes, the shady magical artefact businessman he had invited for breakfast addressed him, "I’ve been trying to locate Kooper Dodgey as you requested but there has been no response."

"Try again."

Gaunt laughed inwardly. He should be relatively free now. And he'd never see it coming.

"Does it have to be him? We can use someone else," Burkes suggested.

"True, but it'll be much more fun if Dodgey comes."

He dismissed the old man. Free help was always just a beck and call away. It was now boring having the power to capture minds and wills. Mere killing was mundane; an imaginative murder against worthy adversaries thrilled. There was nothing like a good game of chess when you know exactly what your opponent was up to. Everything else was a walk in the park.

The Hallows were special. He didn't want to be complacent about that for he was sure Death was not keen on having a master and would sabotage his acquisition plans any chance it would get . After all, these were items offered as a ruse to trick humankind into more deaths. He was smart not to take this particular journey for granted.

Gaunt took out the Elder wand and studied it carefully. It looked ordinary enough but the power that surged through it with his each use was unmistakably more than what coursed through his old wand or Warren's weapon. He did not know if it considered him its true master. He was banking on the fact that the wand had not been possessed in a long time and its loyalties were hopefully up for grabs.

And if all went as planned today, tomorrow same time he would have all three Hallows. He would be Master of Death.

XXXXXXXXX

Harry did speak with John. She didn’t know what he said exactly, but it didn’t matter. Harry officially pulled the plug; the formal notice was on the crushed parchment on John's office floor. She didn't read it. She didn't have to. John just told her that Jean Peverell was going to go back to her fictitious form and be allowed to die a natural death.

With Warren gone the cover was deemed unsecure and that while somebody would continue to monitor channels of communication, verbal or physical contact with the suspect was prohibited. John mentioned Harry's key words - risk, danger, not worth it. She had been tempted to lash out at him too but she did not waste her breath. It was decided. If they wanted her input they would have asked for her opinion before deciding. They didn't. Harry was lead on the case. He would have final say on all matters concerning Gaunt and all teams in the central quadrant were expected to aid him in any way possible.

Hermione quietly left John's office seething, livid at Harry's blatant overstepping of the boundaries of sense, sanity and respect. Worse was he wasn't even there to tell her herself, which to her meant an admission of guilt. He was a bully. She never thought she would think of him that way but that was what he was. He was a fucking bully.

She stomped down the corridor with a scowl and headed for the briefing room. How could she think he was different from all the other men she had known in her life? As her friend and lover he had given her the freedom of her own convictions with no exception but as her fiancé and the father of her child he could not afford her the same treatment. In the end their relationship was just like any other; without compromise there was conflict. It just took them three months to have one really important one that neither of them could compromise about. And when push came to shove this was how he chose to resolve the conflict.

Auror or not, this wasn’t going to be one of. There would be other cases, other situations and asking her to compromise ‘this one time’ was the same as asking her to compromise each and every time he deemed her work unsafe. He might as well have asked her to quit and find an unimportant Ministry desk job where no one cared what she did. And the next time they disagreed on an important enough point he would resort to the exact same thing.

She barged into the room and caught the tail end of his final instructions to his team about the Harpies game tonight. Standing by the door with her arms across her chest, she thought about what to say to him as his Aurors filed out of the door beside her.

She still couldn't believe he followed through on his threat. How could he do this? What gave him the right?

I have the right to protect my family.

His family. His wife. His child. His. They belonged to him and that gave him the right. Belonging to him was so much better before when it was unspoken, when it was a mere emotion and lacking the formality of what was concealed on her ring finger. With the ring she no longer just belonged, she was his possession, at least it felt like it, branded to keep poachers away, carrying his baby and soon to carry his name. It was the ring that gave him the right to ignore her wishes and make an executive decision that the Gaunt case was too dangerous, just like he made rules about who she could and could not dance with, and Merlin only knew what else. He was asking, forcing her into a mould, to conform, to be someone she wasn't.

By the time they were alone, she had worked herself up to contained rage. The bully in front of her wasn’t even acknowledging her presence.

He said as he gathered parchments of security plans for the game. "Let's talk about this later tonight."

He had never used this dismissive tone with her before, not in recent memory anyway. It hurt and she struck back.

"No, let's talk about it now."

“I have no time for this."

"Neither do I," she retorted, "What are my team's orders for the Gaunt case?"

She knew the answer to that.

"None at the moment," he replied stoically, "Didn't John tell you? Your team has been assigned to help the HW's with their case load until the dead can be replaced."

HW duty. That was sure to keep her out of real harm's way.

"Must have slipped his mind. whose idea was it?"

"Mine."

"I see," she bit her back and sarcastically responded, "That was sweet of you. Appreciate it."

"Let's talk about this after the Harpies game.."

He was infuriating. She couldn't stand this. A voice within her admonished - if you love him you will do as he wishes, if you love your child you will stay with him.

That tore through her gut. The measure of ifs. How pathetic was it to think that way now. If she stayed she would prove two things she was already certain of; she loved him and she loved their baby. She didn’t need proof to know that and she only had to convince herself of it. This wasn’t a test of whether or not she loved him. It was a test of whether or not they would be happy together. And she couldn’t be happy with this. Letting him do this to her would be giving up who she was. She would eventually hate him and she didn’t want to hate the father of her child. She had to get out before that fairy tale nightmare happened.

Trembling and with tears in her eyes she lifted the concealment charm and loosened the ring on her finger. The green jewels sparkled but like his eyes at the moment they no longer had the lustre she remembered them to have.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?”

She shoved the ring into the palm of his hand.

“You're overreacting,” he judged.

“Am I?" her answer to her question ripped her heart out, "You obviously rushed into this.”

She obviously did too. They weren’t ready. She loved him and she knew he loved her but the ring had nothing to do with how they felt for each other. The ring was about commitment and compromise, it came with a lot of expectations and a high price. It wasn’t just a symbol of love as she had mistaken it to be all her life.

Her love for him was unconditional. The ring, marriage, living together, wasn't. Wearing the ring would mean compromising her independence and needing to change who she was for him. If there was one thing she couldn’t do it was to not be true to herself. And if Harry couldn’t accept her for who she was, including her decisions however different they were from his, then it would be wrong for them to stay together.

“Don't use this as a pawn to get what you want,” he said icily, leaving the ring in his open palm.

She stared at the piece of jewellery, thinking about what he just said. Did he really think that? Did he not know her well enough to know that she would never do something like that? That felt like a slap to her face and it pushed her over the brink.

The statement was a dare. Even if she changed her mind which she wasn't, taking the ring back under those circumstances was admitting he was right and she couldn’t have him think he was. Her face grew hot, her mouth went dry and there was a heaviness inside her chest that made her eyes burn with tears.

“I don’t do empty threats. You must mistake me for your ex-girlfriend.”

What she just said hurt him too, she could tell, but it was too late to take it back now. The flash of anger in him was hard to take but she steadied herself for what spiteful words he was going to hurl back. Tit for tat.

"I would never mistake you for my ex-girlfriend. She actually listens to what I say."

She nodded and couldn't help but continue to speak her mind, "You know, you're just like her. You're expecting me to be someone I am not some fragile flower that you send away because you're afraid I'm going to get trampled on. I will not be that girl who gets left behind because she's not supposed to fight. I survived on my own long before I was with you. I don't need your protection. I am not Ginny and will never be like Ginny. If you haven't figured that out about me then you proposed to the wrong girl. It's not me that you want. Give that to her. I'm sure she'll be happy to wear it. She’ll be happier than I ever would be. You'll be happier with her too.”

She bit back the emotions that wanted out and walked out of the briefing room, decided not to let him witness her fall apart, the discomfort in her chest now a crushing and excruciating pain. Pesky persistent tears blurred her path but her feet automatically took her back to her desk. Dean saw her and noticed the obvious.

“What happened?”

Hermione didn’t want to talk about it. She grabbed the case file Dean had in his hand and hid her face behind it as she tried to compose herself.

“What are you working on?”

She trained her sights on the first line of the file but couldn't go past it.

“Nothing important," he said what she already surmised, "What happened?”

"Not now."

"Did you and Harry..."

“Back off,” she said firmly.

Dean nodded, ”Aren’t you supposed to go back under?”

“Change of strategy,” she retorted, finally ending the pretence of reading through the document in her hand, “So Burkes is filing a complaint against Borgin for threatening his life. Some people have too much time on their hands. What are we doing about this?”

“Borgin’s in Interview room 3.”

She made her way to the interview room, resolved to do anything to keep her busy for the rest of the day. She didn't want any idle time to think about what was next.

It was difficult enough to breathe and not cry.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry watched Hermione leave, both hands clenched, teeth gritted and fuming mad. He just wanted her and their baby safe. She was so stubborn! Why couldn't she understand?! Why couldn't she just listen to him this once?! Was that too much to ask from her?!

And she was wrong too! He wasn't like Ginny! He wasn't expecting her to change for him. He just wanted her to...ugh! He swore as he came to the realization that she was right. He did. He did expect her to roll over and play the obedient pregnant girlfriend who would keep herself out of harm's way just because he asked, to be someone she was not. He expected her to do it for him and for their baby and he was miffed at her about not doing as he expected. He was so like Ginny.

But he was right about this. He hated that he had to do what he did but the moment he decided he was sure it was the right thing to do. It was too dangerous and the risk wasn't worth it. However, this was Hermione. There was no forcing her to do something she didn't want to do and no preventing her from doing something she wanted to do. Why did he think she would act differently because they were together? Shutting her out of the Gaunt case would only mean she'd find other ways to get involved, likely expose herself to more danger.

He unclenched his hand as he felt the stones on her ring began to cut through skin. The sight of it took him aback - he may be right but where did that get him? In a matter of minutes he had lost her and he had lost his child. The reality of their lives not being a part of his hit him as her words echoed in his thoughts.

She'll be happier with you than I ever would be.

If she wasn't going to be happy with him then what was the point?

He put the ring in his pocket as his phone rang.

"Potter."

"Harry, it's Quince," replied the Auror who was on the other line.

"Yeah. What's up?"

He had assigned the Auror to sweep the stands on the south side of the Flamers Quidditch Pitch.

"I may have something," his man replied, "The Anti-apparition wards have been tampered with."

"I'm on my way."

The game opening tip was eight hours away. The craziness had begun.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione stood by the bar at Finnigan's watching the crowd celebrate the just concluded Harpies-Flamers game. It was a close game. The Harpies won by sixty points based on another inspired performance by Ginny and the team had designated Finnigan's to be their post-game party place. Guests were by invite only but the pub was packed.

Dean was standing beside her, a mobile magical MIR in hand. She and Dean were off duty but were helping the detail assigned to the pub with last minute security measures. In truth she didn't want to go home and being there was better. She had counted on the game going on forever and was disappointed that it didn't. She had hoped that when the team finally got there she'd go home and would be too tired to wallow. The longer she put off thinking about Harry the less emotional she'd be about it, at least that was her theory.

There was a burst of screaming and commotion just outside the main entrance where fans were waiting to catch a glimpse of their favourite Quidditch heroes. The Harpies had arrived. The double doors swung in and the team, the coach, the manager, the trainers strolled into Finnigan's welcomed by cheers, the company of Aurors protecting them unobtrusive and well blended in.

In the midst of all that was Ginny, all smiles and waving to the crowd outside. Harry was beside her, providing a physical and magical shield against the collapsing sea of humanity. It was too painful to watch him, especially with her. She had to look away and motioned to Dean she was leaving.

She manoeuvred her way to the kitchen with the intention of Disapparating from the back door. The music was turned up, drowning the buzz of conversations as drinks flowed freely and bodies converged onto the dance floor.

Walking past the kitchen doors, she found herself face to face with Harry.

"Leaving already?" he asked.

They were in danger of being run over by the constant stream of waiters, waitresses and cooks that they had to stand shoulder to shoulder against the wall. There was bustling activity in the mess and everybody was too busy to notice them.

"It's been a long day."

"Have you eaten?"

"I'm not hungry."

She found it hard to look at him as they spoke. There was concern in his voice and she was afraid that she would cave the moment she confirmed that he cared, that he wasn't all bad, that he didn’t want to break up with her. Her intention to leave was difficult to put into action.

Panicky voices of reason plagued her, little by little corrupting her resolve.

But you love him. How can you choose not to be with him? You can't just give that up!

Then he lightly brushed the back of his fingers against hers. The pull of his gaze was overwhelming and she had no choice but to meet it. One look at him and she was gone.

They held each other’s eyes for what seemed like an eternity. He didn't have to say he was sorry. It wasn't even important to her what he was sorry about. Just the fact that he was was enough. Nothing else mattered. She slid her hand into his and felt him squeeze it gently.

"We'll talk," he said simply.

"We'll talk," she answered.

He walked her to the Disapparition point and watched her disappear. For her, it was like a thorn had just been pulled from her chest. She barely noticed getting home. She would wait up for him. She was too excited thinking about what he was going to say to her and what she was going to say to him.

When she got into her bedroom a phone began to ring.

Jean Peverell’s.

It rang four or five times before she answered.

“Hullo?”

“Ms. Peverell?”

“Yes?”

“Gregory Pasturin,” the man replied, “Is this a bad time?”

“No. It’s perfect actually.”

“I know it's short notice but I was wondering if we could meet tonight. I wouldn't rush but my company wants me out of London by the morning. A late dinner or a night cap perhaps?”

It was nine. Why the hurry? Why the pressure to meet now? This didn't make sense for if she was Jean Peverell she would immediately decline.

That was it. Gaunt knew Jean Peverell did not exist. He knew who she was. Fuck...

"Ms. Peverell?" the voice nudged her back to the moment, "Are you still there?"

What Warren said this morning started to make sense. Warren suspected that Gaunt knew of the sting and that he would be in touch with her. She could only think the obvious that Gaunt was planning to use her to get the other Hallows. The decision that Warren had said she had to make was a no-brainer.

"Yes…um…I don’t know…it's quite late," she played the part.

“I promise not to keep up you."

The call trace came up with nothing just as expected.

"My husband is away. Would you mind if I brought a friend along with me?"

"No, not at all.”

Gaunt knew who she was but he didn't know that she knew. This could work. She'd need at least half an hour to make phone calls and set everything up.

“How about ten o'clock? There’s a place on Worthy and Klein, it’s called Kaleidoscope,” she suggested what she and Warren had predetermined.

"Actually, I'm at this place at Diagon Alley..."

XXXXXXXXXX

It was five minutes before ten. They had the place surrounded by Aurors and anti-Disapparition wards were in place. Everyone was where they were supposed to be.

Harry followed Hermione and John closely as they walked into the Jugular, a respectable pub a couple of blocks down from Finnigan’s. John and Hermione were in disguises. Harry was under his cloak.

Less than an hour ago, Hermione was back at Finnigan’s. She told Harry that Gaunt had made contact and she had a plan. He listened. She was very convincing and the plan was a good one. Warren would be there, and John, and him if he so chose to be. Once Gaunt was in custody she promised to discuss the possibility of lying low until she had the baby. It was a concession, a compromise, so he wouldn’t worry too much. For his sanity, she said, unless something as important as Gaunt came up. And she was so convincing he crossed the line he had asked her not to cross earlier.

It’s a good plan.

He sent the real Harpies back to Holyhead discreetly, replacing them with Polyjuiced versions, to make the appearance that the party was still on. He tasked a Polyjuiced Humptail to hold the fort at Finnigan’s as him so he wouldn’t be missed. Dean was back-up, and would monitor the situation from the now closed dress shop next door.

They kept people in the know to a minimum, suspecting there was a leak amongst them which they couldn’t plug right now. Throughout the hour he went in a couple of times to check the place out. There were not a lot of patrons that night, maybe about thirty or so, mostly older couples having a good time. Gaunt had not shown up yet but through the MIR detectors he planted in key locations, they knew that ‘Kooper Dodgey’ and Caractakus Burkes arrived a few minutes ago. Why Warren chose to show up as the wanted thief was a mystery but he was in place if it was indeed him. Hermione said she would confirm once they got there.

And between John, Warren, Hermione and himself, there would be enough magical power to get Gaunt once he showed up.

It’s a good plan.

“I'm Jean Peverell. One of your guests, Gregory Pasturin is expecting me,” Hermione said to the hostess that met her and John.

“Right this way.”

They followed the hostess into a private function room, a good thing. They could keep civilian casually to a minimum, maybe avoid it altogether. They got to the table and the two wizards at it stood up.

“Perimeter clear. Burkes and Dodgey are the only known assholes in the vicinity,” Dean announced to the team.

“Ms. Peverell, Mr. Pasturin just stepped out for a second. Nature called. My name is Caractakus Burkes and this is my assistant Kooper,” she shook hands with them.

“It’s a pleasure,” she responded, “This is a family friend, Frank Fines.”

John shook hands with them too as he kept an eye on ‘Kooper’. Hermione was on it.

“Forgive me if I’m being rude,” Hermione addressed ‘Kooper’, “But you have the exact same shirt that my husband has.”

“Your husband obviously has good taste,” ‘Kooper’ replied, as the group chuckled, “This is my favourite.”

Dean made a gagging sound.

Hermione smiled at John, a signal that ‘Kooper’ was indeed Warren.

Harry scanned the vicinity for signs of the crook. He picked up a magical being approaching the room they were in just as Dean announced someone was coming.

John asked Burkes, “How do you know Mr. Pasturin?”

“A colleague of mine asked me to show him a good time while he was here,” the wizard answered, “And you’re a long lost relative?”

All eyes were on Hermione.

“Apparently so. Since I decided to use my great grandmother’s maiden name I’ve been contacted by a few others like Mr. Pasturin,” she rattled off, “It’s good. I think it’s important to know our history, where we came from, who our family is.”

Dean adlibbed, "Stop it you're making me cry."

“Ah! Mr. Pasturin, there you are,” Burkes exclaimed at the figure who just joined them, “Ms. Peverell and her guest have arrived.”

A middle aged wizard who looked nothing like Gaunt was shaking Hermione’s and John’s hand. Dean said the MIR couldn’t identify him.

Legilimens specialis.

Harry quickly scanned the man’s recent memories. Warren and John would be doing the same. It wasn’t Gaunt but a patron who walked into the bar minutes ago. Just as they thought, he would send a decoy. But if this guy wasn’t Gaunt, he was being controlled by Gaunt. Gaunt must be close.

“Thank you for coming to see me on such short notice.”

‘Gaunt’ took over and then went on the talk about how he found out he had ancestors in Britain and how he wanted to connect with them. Harry was restless, John was too but less obviously so. The longer they stayed the more worried he became. What was Gaunt waiting for?

“…Caractakus here has been kind enough to help me track these jewels. I’ve already bought a few. Some others didn’t want to part which I totally respect.”

John pushed the envelope, “Jean, that black stone that belonged to your great-grandmother. Was that from the Peverell’s side?”

“I think so.”

“Well Mr. Burkes here is an expert. Maybe he can take a look at it and confirm,” John suggested, “That is if Mr. Burkes doesn’t mind working overtime.”

Mr. Burkes laughed out loud, “Of course not.”

“Do you have it with you?” ‘Gaunt’ enquired.

Hermione reached for the chain around her neck and pulled out a necklace, the black Peverell stone dangling invitingly at the end of it. Burkes took it in his hand and examined it with a ready jeweller’s magnifying spectacles.

“This is cracked badly,” the appraiser noticed the obvious, “What happened to it?”

She shrugged, “Not sure, it was that way when I got it.”

Burkes mumbled to himself as they all waited anxiously for the verdict. Dean was talking to himself too.

“I’m tired. I want to go to the loo. Where the fuck are you, Gaunt?”

“I think I do see faint Peverell markings on it, but it’s too damaged to really tell,” he said to Hermione. “It’s a pity to leave it broken like this. If you want I can have someone repair it.”

Hermione took it back, “Oh no, I think the crack lends a charm to it.”

“May I?” ‘Gaunt’s’ eyes glinted as he asked.

Hermione handed him the piece of jewellery as he took a peak at his mind again.

Legilimens specialis.

Shit!

“Fuck!” Warren cursed, “It’s him!”

‘Gaunt’ was Gaunt!

Mayhem ensued. The Canadian transformed back to himself, bolting straight up from his chair as he drew out and discharged his wand at Hermione, who just fired a curse and missed his head by an inch. Harry reacted, casting a shield to protect her. He shot a warning at Warren.

“What are you doing?!” Harry took off the Invisibility cloak and bellowed at Warren.

“He’s got her!”

“No, he’s got him!” Hermione raised her wand at Warren and fired again, “He’s not himself ! Get to Gaunt!”

“Yeah! Do that! I can’t be responsible if I hurt her!”

“Morpheus Gaunt is in the building, I am not fucking around so get your asses inside ASAP!” Harry heard Dean sounded the alarm in the background.

He didn’t know who to believe. Warren and Hermione duelled. John and Gaunt were locked in a battle too. Hermione was doing fine on her own although Warren did seem to be holding back. There was no time to think. Harry aimed his wand at the Dark Wizard.

Capio Mentis!

Harry got thrown back a few feet, smashing against a wall. Gaunt had some sort of a shield on and laughed at him. He picked himself up quickly and was about to help John when he got hit by a full body bind curse from behind. He could only watch as Dean did the same thing to John and to Warren.

Gaunt muttered two successive curses.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Avada Kedavra!”

Dean’s body fell beside him. He wasn’t sure who the other one was meant for but he was relieved to see Hermione still standing.

“Warren,” Gaunt taunted, “You are a worthy adversary. Here. Have a seat. Um, you too Harry.”

He was levitated, his bindings loosened and he was placed in a sitting position opposite where Warren was. Standing in front of them Hermione stood listless beside Gaunt, necklace with the stone around his neck and the invisibility cloak draped over his shoulder. From the sounds of fighting outside the room, back-up had arrived.

“I wouldn’t even hope for that,” he told them straight. “They are not getting in here.”

Harry wasn’t hoping and was already working his way wandlessly against the tight bindings. He had his eye on his wand a few feet away. Warren was doing the same.

“Here’s an idea,” Gaunt continued to taunt them, “Wouldn’t it be fun to watch her watch her baby die? Wouldn’t it be even more fun if she killed it herself?”

His insides screamed as he watched Hermione point her wand at the still non-existent bump on her tummy.

Hermione! Fight him off! Fight him off!

He yelled at her in his mind as he continued to work on getting himself free. Just a few more release spells…

“Come on, Granger. You know the spell. I know because I see you thinking it. Come on, say it. Mortuus parvulus. Mortuus parvulus.”

Hermione, don’t do it. It’s our baby .

“You, shut up,” he shot and hit Warren with an electrical Stinger, “I’m the only one allowed in her mind right now. Hermione, we’re wait...”

Hermione cursed Gaunt, a Stunner from the looks of it but Gaunt blocked it off and pointed the Elder wand at her.

“Bitch! Avada Kedavra!”

With desperation Harry found himself free. He knew he wouldn’t get to his wand in time so he did the next best thing. He propelled himself towards the flash of green light. Then there was nothingness.

XXXXXXXXXX

Death was in St. Mungo's waiting to reap its final harvest for day. It should have known to bring a book. Every time this particular wizard's time came up there was always some hold up. Today was no different. Harry Potter was being difficult as always. Hopefully this would be the third and last time

“You’re Death,” somebody was speaking to it, a young woman with brown hair and eyes, all cut up, blood seemingly all over her.

Death knew who she was.

“How did you know?”

“You mean aside from black hooded cloak and the farming implement?”

“I don’t even know why I have to carry this scythe around. It’s not that I use it to harvest.”

She asked tentatively, “Who are you here to harvest?”

“I've taken lots tonight. Him, her, him, him, him, him, her…” Death pointed at her belly.

The woman's face scrounged up like a prune and tears flowed down her face as she clutched her now empty womb. Human emotion, from its knowledge of it, was complex. She looked like she just remembered what happened.

"I'm not dreaming," she whispered to herself.

"I guess you feel that's a bad thing."

“Dean and John?”

“Dean Thomas and John Dawlish? Already harvested. I’m all set except for this hold up.”

“What about Harry Potter?” she asked.

“Harry Potter is the hold up,” Death motioned with his scythe over to where the centre of the chaos was. “Hmm, I guess that’s one thing this can be for.”

“Is he going to make it?”

“I'm here, unable to leave until he does. Not likely.”

“He was hit by a killing curse. Why is he still alive?”

“I don’t know what it is with this kid," Death raised his arms up in exasperation, "The killing curse always seems to have a strange effect on him. He’s slipped by me few times.”

“Maybe you're not here for him.”

"No, this time I think I have him," Death was certain, “I’m to get twenty-two. He’s number twenty-two and the only one in imminent death in the vicinity. Actually, he should be dead already. Bloody humans are doing extra-ordinary measures because he’s some local hero. They don’t want him to die.”

“He is a hero. He saved my life. The curse was meant for me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.,” Death read in a book somewhere that humans liked hearing shit like that.

“My baby, the one you took, was his.”

“Bummer. I don’t really want to hear this. This is causing me a lot of discomfort," the faceless figure admitted, "I'm not supposed to hear things like this.”

“I love him. Please, don't take him. Not yet,” the human pleaded.

Death couldn't put up with this. It was beyond its job to deal with such matters. He had to put an end to the whining.

"I'm afraid that will be a problem. I'm supposed to reap twenty-two. I only have twenty-one. Unless someone else dies within the next few minutes, I will have to take Mr. Potter."

The woman seemed wise for her age, "What happens if you reap one less that you're supposed to?"

Death answered melodramatically, "Disorder, mayhem, loss of balance, nobody really knows. Death happens for a reason. Harvesting one less soul is just not done. It is not spoken of."

"No need to explain. I understand the need for rules," she replied, "Then take me instead of him."

Death was confused; this human sacrificial practice was still a mystery to it, "But why does it matter?"

"He is a true to life hero. He represents a lot of things to a lot of people. Our world needs him more than it needs me."

"How you could know that for sure is impossible," really and truly, that was the reason for the randomness of death, where everyone was number, "But I can't take you."

"Why not?"

"Two things," Death explained, "The Healers patched you up in time. There is no scientific reason for you to die and If you did die it would be a cause of medical confusion."

The woman found a cutting instrument from a nearby tray and stabbed herself in the chest with it.

"Are you disturbed?!"

That was obvious.

"There," the woman challenged, the object protruding from her chest, "Reason enough?"

Over at the gurney where her physical body was alarms went off like crazy and healers rushed to her aid.

"You don't understand," Death continued, pulling out the object that pierced through her heart, "There's the other thing. You can't die."

"What do you mean I can't die?"

It guessed she would find out sooner or later, "You're my Master - well Mistress. You're the Mistress of Death; I haven't had a master or mistress in - well actually never.. It would be considered self serving if I took you and I believe it's a direct violation of the Deathly Hallows contract signed between the Death then and the Peverell brothers."

"I see," she was calculating her options and finally figured it out, "Since I am your Mistress then you will do whatever I want."

"If that was a question the answer is 'yes', with the exception of direct violations to the Death Bill of Rights."

Her tone changed into a bossy, annoying one, "I don't care what you have to do. I want Harry Potter to live. Make it happen."

Death drew an intake of air even though it had no lungs to do it. It could already see that having her as mistress would make life as it knew it a living hell. Why must it be the one to suffer for that stupid Death of long ago who made the deal with the Peverells and unleashed the Hallows?

"I will have to take something back with me in exchanged for his soul," Death negotiated, "Bill of Rights states that we are not to be forced to reduce our quotas and any exchanges have to be something of equal significance."

"No such thing exists."

"A life for a life."

"You can't take my life."

"I can't take your soul," Death corrected, "There are other ways to take a life."

"What do you have in mind?"

"Oh, not much."

"Name it and it's yours."

"Three months worth of memory, all his most recent memories of you," Death felt particular proud of coming up with that. If its Mistress was upset, she didn't show it this time, "Do we have a deal?"

"I can live with that."

"We'll find out soon enough."

Death figured that since she was going to make its life hell, it was only fair that it make hers the same.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I am Death - you can hate me although I should remind you it was JKR who wrote the Epilogue – yes – I am attempting to deflect flames her way.

I'm sure it isn't original but I hope it lived up to expectations. Their break-up wasn’t their fault – that’s kind of what I wanted to go for.

Next chapter - I know you want Hugo back.

39. The Rude Awakening

A/N. I am grateful to all who reviewed. I figured not everyone would like the explanation but I’m glad most found it acceptable.

I will be trying out something I’ve never done before and will be relying on your feedback as always. I wrote Hermione’s flashbacks in the first person (it’s hard!). The past will be in italics (I tried to change the font color but that didn’t work). It feels weird reading it but I promised those who did not want to read details of Hermione’s experience after the ‘break up’ an easy way to skip these parts. It’s also for those who don’t like reading ‘pointless’ angst.

The first part of the chapter does touch on what happened between Hermione and Gaunt right after Harry ‘died’.

Present Harry and Hugo in this one.

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Chapter 39 – The Rude Awakening

12 June 2003 – St. Mungo’s Hospital

I'm alive.

I know I am. I can feel the rise and fall of my chest with each breath and I can hear what's happening around me. But there is this lack of desire to wake up. I ache everywhere and it isn’t so much the physical pain that has me beaten but an anguish of the kind I never imagined existed.

I’m alive but I wish I wasn’t.

I open my eyes and after a few tries they finally do. The first person I see is a familiar red head.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaims, relief in his voice as he turns around and tells someone else the good news, "Mrs. Granger, she's awake!"

My Mum's figure comes into focus, she looks so tired and concerned but the smile she has on her face makes me feel a bit better. More people come at a dizzying pace, people I don't know, people I don't care about replacing the ones I do, all extremely pleased that I am conscious. I don't share their enthusiasm. To be alive and awake is not something I can celebrate about. Harry is dead; our baby is dead; as far as I'm concerned so am I.

Humptail, now Head Auror, is informed by his spies and arrives within minutes. The sensitivity of the case is apparent as he sends the Healers, Ron and my Mum away to debrief me on his own. I get him to tell me what he knows and nod at his version of things until he starts talking about the dead in a disconnected way. My dislike of him surfaces the second he mentions Dean should have known better than to compromise the operation further by coming in close contact with Gaunt.

"It wasn't Dean’s fault," I immediately state for the record, "Gaunt got to me. Dean wanted to help. If you need a scapegoat, blame me."

"We're not looking to blame," his annoying voice grates against my self control, "We just want to know what transpired after."

The Head Auror's factual information of what happened in the room with Gaunt, Harry, John, Warren and Burkes ends where Dean loses himself. It seemed there was a malfunction of all Ministry surveillance gadgets around the same time. He wants me to tell him.

"What did Warren say?" I ask and hope that what I think happened to him didn’t.

"He was last seen fighting against vampires. He hasn't reported back yet," Humptail states without emotion.

I have to close my eyes, to steady myself. How fair was it that I, the weakest link, would be the one left to tell the tale?

"What happened, Hermione?" he repeats.

He says my name awkwardly, a pretence that he cares, and that makes me angry. I stare at him icily thinking, since when did he start calling me by my first name? I don’t answer.

Humptail approaches my bed and talks quietly, to keep the conversation private, “You know about Borgin and Burkes and their disagreements of late. Borgin had a Muggle spy monitor installed at the Jugular, we think to find dirt on his partner so he can muscle him out of their partnership. It showed that Gaunt had all the three Hallows at one point and recorded Harry being hit by a curse that was meant for you. You and Warren were duelling with Gaunt when the vampires came and took Warren away. Where did you and Gaunt go?"

I debate within myself what to tell him, how much to tell him, if to tell him at all. I decide that to get him off my back I have to tell him something.

"Godric's Hollow."

He knows this already. It was where Gaunt was killed and where I lost consciousness.

"We found the wand and the stone with Gaunt," he said, "What happened to the cloak?"

"And here I was thinking you were concerned about me."

I lose patience totally. This debriefing isn't about finding the truth and getting justice for the men and women who died that night. It is about the cursed Hallows.

The sharp retort is effective Humptail is finally back to his old asshole of a self, "Where is the cloak, Granger?"

"I didn't notice it at Godric's Hollow. Wasn't it at the Jugular?" I ask helpfully.

We both know the answer to that.

"No, it wasn’t," he replies, measuring my reaction.

I don’t care that he doesn’t believe me. I couldn't replicate Harry's cloak, its magical properties of invisibility immune to the Geminio spell. And there was no way I was going to leave it with Gaunt for them to find. I took it for Harry, to have it rest with him wherever his final resting place would be. The wand they think is the Elder Wand is the spare I transferred the Deathstick's prior memories to and the stone is the imitation of the original we decided to entice Gaunt with. They have no clue they don't have the real things.

"He must have lost it somewhere," I answer back stoically, with a ready counter for his next question.

"Why did he take you to Godric's Hollow? What's at the church?"

"I was too busy trying to stay alive,” I shrug as I reply, “I didn’t ask why."

It wasn't so much the church but the cemetery beside it. Gaunt was deranged, the inner workings of his mind too twisted for me to figure out, which was why Warren knew him better. The Dark Wizard lured me there and then hit me with the abortive spell Harry helped me fight off earlier. The excruciating physical pain was nothing compared to knowing I had lost our baby, that I had let happen what I had convinced Harry I would never let happen. To make me suffer further, Gaunt dug a shallow grave beside Ignotus Peverell’s tomb, dumped into it what looked like a human fetus and said as he kicked dirt over the hole that as a Peverell my baby should be buried there. He boasted how we screwed up, that he had eyes and ears everywhere and that he had seen the ruse from a mile away.

Gaunt made me choose; to live and fight another day or to fight him then and die doing it. I chose the latter. There was something in me that was raw and angry, an uncontrollable wrath I had never felt before. I wanted to kill him; I wanted it to be me, myself, and I could have with my bare hands. We duelled and I forced him inside the church. He ceased breathing there but the rage did not completely go away.

"How did Gaunt die?"

"I’m sure the wand’s priori showed you.”

“It’s unclear. He was pointing the wand at you but the killing curse he conjured killed him.”

“The wand killed him.”

She figured there was no harm in making a wand more legendary.

“On its own?”

“On its own. If your pals at the DOM are doing tests on it, you might want to tell them that.”

Humptail goes on the offensive, "If I find out you're lying, Granger, there will be hell to pay for. I will summon a full inquiry commencing the moment the Healers clear you."

I ignore his threat; I am already in hell. I tell him I don't mind having the inquiry now. The confrontation makes Humptail red in the face and he finally leaves, taking with him whatever respect I had left for his authority. I resolve I am not working for that man ever.

My Healer takes over and explains to me in detail what happened but I barely listen; my thoughts pre-occupied by the faces and voices of those who died. I catch the part that they don’t know why I lost so much blood. I guess they didn’t find any trace of my pregnancy and I didn’t see any point in solving their conundrum. Then she tells me I've been in a coma for two weeks. Two weeks. Two whole weeks of not being amongst the living. Why the fuck did she leave that minor detail for last?

I decide it’s not important to get too excited about. She goes away and more junior Healers and Healer assistants come to poke and prod. Not that I tell anyone but in the idleness of my mind the faces and voices have been replaced by the steady stream of memories from that night, flashing before me like a news reel, factual and impersonal, the dead and their families questioning, demanding...

Who will look after my family?

Is my Mummy coming back?

Why did I die?

Bring me back my son!

Where's our baby?

They go on with no let up. I want them to and I don't want them to at the same time. Ten good souls died that night, each death my fault. I should have listened. I shouldn't have been there.

Where's our baby?

My chest hurts. It feels like its ripping apart, like my heart is being yanked forcibly out of its place. It's beating when it shouldn't...beating when it didn't deserve to.

My regret is I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to Harry. I wanted to go back after I hid the Hallows but the last thing I remember was struggling against a crushing weakness. I pass out in the arms of a priest and then have this bizarre dream about bargaining with Death, exchanging Harry's life for my own. If only that really happened. I crumble into myself and call out to him, wherever he is.

Oh Harry, I never imagined anything could hurt this much.

I don’t notice that I am alone again until Ron walks in. He sees I’ve been crying. He takes my hand in his and tries to cheer me up.

"I just called Ginny," Ron shares.

I imagine how devastated she is as I brush the tears off my face. Focussing on someone else's pain, I find, is much easier than dealing with mine.

"How is she?"

"Worried sick about you," Ron tells her, "She's been here with your Mum for days. She’s going to give you hell for choosing to wake up when she's not around."

So his jokes are still lame. I remind myself that he's a friend and he's trying to help.

"Where is she?"

"She's been a wreck so Harry took her away."

My heart stops at the mention of his name

"Har-ry? He's a-alive?"

I barely get that thought out, afraid it was just wishful thinking. Ron is surprised at my shock.

"Didn't that git Humptail tell you?!" he responded angrily, not a fan of the new Head Auror either.

"I just assumed…is he okay?"

I can hardly contain my excitement and Ron tells me about Harry's unique talent with envious amusement.

"AK'd and lives again. He's freaking everybody out although he's suffering from patchy memory loss that Healers supposed it wasn't really an AK that hit him. Anyway, things started up again between him and Ginny," Ron explains in a suggestive tone she wanted to but couldn't ignore, "They've been spending time here and with Dean dead and you and Harry almost dying they've realized how life is too short and too precious to allow petty quarrels..."

In an instant I am torn away from the bliss of knowing he is alive and dumped into the horrifying pit of confusion and despair. I stop listening. The details are too much. Vaguely I hear Ron mention Ginny wearing a certain ring, his Mum’s ring, my ring. I finally hear what he said earlier. Harry and Ginny were back together and Harry took Ginny away.

I don't understand. How could he love me and then, all of a sudden, not?! How could he just abandon me as I'm in a coma knowing I had lost our baby?! I can imagine him being angry at me but I don't deserve this! Wasn't his love supposed to be unconditional? Wasn't it supposed to last forever?!

I knew he still cared about Ginny, that was clear but his betrayal is devastating, more so because I never expected it of him. I hear someone wailing incoherently. I realize it is me. And I can't decide which was worse, thinking he was dead or knowing he was a cruel git who no longer wanted to be with me.

The Healers hit me with something to make me sleep. I curse them as they gradually steal my awareness away.

“I just woke up! I don't want to sleep! I want to see him!”

I want to see him...I want to tell him that he is supposed to be with me…I want to tell him that I love him, that we love each…I want to look into his eyes…I want to know why…I want to know…

I calm down, no doubt because of a Healer's spell. As I fight off unconsciousness I hear stupid me say, Harry did not die that night and him alive is good even if he chooses to be with Ginny, right?

I'm so fucking stupid.

Then I remember my dream, that vivid dream that I was certain was just me hoping against hope that he did not die that night. It was beyond sense and beyond logic that someone could bargain with Death. The dream was evidently not real.

But as my heavy lids close the Death in my dream appears before me, haunting me with the deal I made with it.

His life for his memories of you.

No...no...

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16 September 2021 – The Town of Hiwaga in Southeast Asia

It was just past six a.m. The huge Roman Catholic cathedral was half-filled with pious locals attending the dawn mass. At the lectern with an open Bible in his hand was Father Howard, the celebrant. He asked everyone to stand.

"A reading from the Holy Gospel according to John."

Harry stood beside one of the giant pillars by the side entrance completely unapparent under a Disillusionment charm, listening to the priest’s monotonous drone, watching half of the crowd as their eyes glazed over with attentive indifference. Two pews from the altar sat Hugo, his two classmates flanking him. He checked on his men; all were in position. His team of trusted Aurors surrounded the three teenagers, Ted was right behind them.

He frowned as Hugo signed himself and knelt like the rest of the congregation did without hesitation. His son passed for someone who had been in attendance a few times. Did his mother raise him Catholic?

Right. He quickly shook off that harebrained thought. Unfamiliar with the rituals of this particular church, he remained vigilant. He had scanned the priest and the altar boys but came up with nothing. The place was huge, with many little nooks and dark corners. Warren could be anywhere; he could be anybody. If he were Warren where would he be?

Surveying the scene once again, his eyes found the elevated balcony in the back where the absent church choir would have been and saw someone just disappear into thin air. Warren was in the building.

Suddenly, about half the crowd, Hugo and the Martinez girl included, stood and began moving up the aisles towards the raised altar, forming a semicircle around the base of the steps as a song played in the background. His men followed the two while Father Howard handed out white, circular, flat bread. A second priest came out and did the same, working on the opposite end of the arc.

The queues were still three rows deep, Hugo right up front now. He seemed fidgety, increasingly more so as the priest who just arrived got closer to him.

Legilimiens specialis!

Images of Hugo and Hermione flowed across his thoughts.

He hissed with urgency on the comm, "Stand dow...!"

But he was too late. One of his Aurors picked up something that was amiss and moved in. Hugo was taken away, then the girl, while half of his men converged on the identified target, forcibly Disapparating him to a secluded place. Only this target was the wrong one. The bastard knew they were there and tampered with the priest's memory.

The assembly sensed a commotion and the service was interrupted. Harry rapidly searched for something out of the picture and found one. Hugo's other friend, the blonde boy, Spencer, was walking towards him, the Auror assigned to physically move him to a safe place slumped in between the pews. Hugo's friend couldn't do magic.

For a moment he thought about grabbing his stealthy son and aborting but he went with his gut. On some level he trusted Warren, he trusted Warren that he would not hurt Hugo.

Harry followed Hugo closely as the boy made his way out of the church, wading against the tide of bodies wanting to go up to the altar to see what was happening. Hugo bumped into a local and Harry couldn't believe his eyes. He barely saw the tip of his son's wand emerge from his pants pocket. Hugo had in a split second transformed into an identical version of the other person when he walked away, appearance, clothes, and all.

His phone vibrated against his chest. That would be Teddy reporting their mistake. He ignored it, wary about Hugo's skills and not testing it. While he had means to track his son down if he lost visual, he’d rather use them only if absolutely necessary.

Harry trailed Hugo through a crowded fresh produce market, still on foot. He knew exactly where he was going. He turned into a minor street and walked towards a row of shops and stores, circled around the back and knocked on one of the entrances, transforming back to his natural appearance as he did.

It opened and a pale local woman immediately gave Hugo a hug, a caring look on her face.

"Hugo."

She said something else in the local language that the translator device he had instantly interpreted as welcoming him back.

“It’s good to be back,” he heard his son say teary eyed, "Is he here yet?"

The woman nodded and ushered him in. Harry was quick enough to squeeze by the door as it closed.

They were in a restaurant, small, homely and familiar from the picture of Hermione's last birthday. Standing near one of the wooden bamboo tables looking extremely out of place was his old partner, Warren Gates.

XXXXXXXXXX

I wake up from another calming spell induced period of time. This seems to be my Healing team’s only strategy when I start my hysterics. My behaviour is pathetic and embarrassing and more so because I cannot prevent myself from acting irrationally. They sent the shrink. I told him to get the fuck out of my room. I argued with my Mum and ungratefully drove her to be on the next flight back to Australia. I told Kingsley, the Minister of Magic, that I didn’t want to see him. And I am irritated by the littlest things, like the sight of red heads so much so that I told Ron to get out of my sight. That was the fastest I had gotten rid of him ever.

Ginny came by earlier and I couldn’t stand her being so happy about everything. She was wearing my ring and my impatience with knowing what happened drove me to making the mistake of reading her mind. Her memories of the past two weeks with Harry flooded me and seeing him happy with her and feeling how happy she was with him was…fuck…I could have cursed her and not felt bad. I would have if I had a wand with me but the Healers knew better than to let me have use of one. And Ginny wasn’t dense; my animosity wasn’t very hard to miss. She left, scared about what I had become.

They decide I need more sedation. They are clueless about what upsets me. They think it’s about Dean. And admittedly maybe it should be about Dean and about all the others who died because of me. Who cares if Harry moved on? Who fucking cares?

I am so angry at myself. I don’t want to talk with anyone else. I don’t even want to see Harry. I’m crying again. This is so pathetic, I’m crying again…

Someone is holding my hand. Strong and warm. Familiar. It's him. Finally, he came. I realize just now that miss him so much. Pathetic... And I know how painful this was going to be but I need to do it. I need to know.

I still cry the moment I open my eyes and look into his. It's him but it’s not. The tenderness I’ve come to know and expect from them is no longer there…not anymore. He really doesn’t remember. He is married now, happily, just yesterday. I saw through Ginny mind his and Ginny’s impulsive decision to marry ahead, a more formal ceremony to follow. And I saw that it was borne out of how they felt for each other. I have to shut my eyes tight again but that’s not enough to keep the tears from falling.

So what if he doesn’t love you anymore…he’s alive…he’s happy…what else matters?

“Hush, it’ll be fine” he tries to comfort me and gives my hand a firm squeeze.

His words hurt.

His touch hurts.

I can't breathe...I can't breathe...

I struggle for air. I am pushing him away but he doesn’t let me. I scream in my head.

But you said you loved me! You said it was forever!

He has me in his arms, trying to hold me against him as I do my best to get him off. I am sobbing, not only because of what I know I don't have any more but also in frustration that I'm not strong enough to push him away physically or emotionally.

I can’t breathe...

I see the Healers coming and I hear him tell them to back off, that I'd be okay, if they just backed off.

They leave us alone and the quiet calms me down. I stop fighting him. I am in his arms, wrapped in his embrace and I hang on to him tightly. I hang on to this small thread of comfort, a comfort that I know only he can give me. I need him to hold me, I need him to make me feel better, I need him realizing that he’s no longer mine to need.

I hear myself talking to him silently, I lost her, Harry. I lost our baby. I should have listened. I'm so sorry...can you ever forgive me?

Then I remember that he won't have to. To him she didn't exist and we never were the way we were. Maybe it's not so bad that he doesn’t remember. He won't be so angry. He won't hate me like I hate myself right now. And he'll be so hurt if I tell him. I can't bear the thought of hurting him for nothing. Our baby is dead and nothing can bring her back.

I don’t know when I stop crying but after, I tear myself away from his warm affection, lump in my throat and throbbing pain in my chest, I bravely look into his green eyes again.

I love him. Without a doubt I love him. Even if he no longer remembers that he loved me once I still do. Nothing, not even Death, can keep me from loving him. Mine is forever and unconditional and I can’t do anything if his isn’t. I can’t imagine fighting for something that isn’t there anymore. I’ll be forcing myself on someone who doesn’t love me and I’ll end up hating myself.

To love him and to have been loved by him is better than not to have been loved by him at all. Not letting go graciously is only going to tarnish what we had.

I decide. Acceptance is better. He’s happy and it is better to let go.

I’m fine with this…I’m fine with this…

I tell myself repeatedly as I gaze up at him, pulling back from the closeness of the moment, resolved not to look into his eyes that intimately anymore.

He smiles at me and asks, “Better?”

I nod and answer honestly, “Better.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

I can’t help the chuckle that escapes from my throat and drives the sharp jab away. I find it amusing that it still hurts a lot and I realize that ‘fine’ and ‘better’ are tenuous states of mind.

I shake my head, “No.”

He left it at that, at least for a while. It is hard not to wallow with him there and a constant reminder but I figure I must start somewhere. The more daunting task is trying not to break down when I see him with her. That won’t be for today and hopefully not for a few days.

Thank goodness we have our work to talk about. We discuss the Hallows, the fake ones, as I flex my brain in the back of my mind to figure out what it all means now that he’s still alive. The ‘wand’ is back in Dumbledore’s tomb; the ‘stone’ back in the DOM vault. Harry is still the last known living master of the wand. The Questers will still find him.

Only maybe, he isn’t master of the wand anymore. It is a crazy thought and there is only one way to find out.

Later that night after being certain that I am alone, I call for it, literally.

“Death? Are you – here?”

A black hooded figure emerges from the shadow and in a patronizing voice addresses me, “I wasn’t but I am now. You rang?”

XXXXXXXXXX

Overwhelmed with relief, Hugo cried as he ran up to Warren.

“I’m so glad I found you!” he said to the wizard who stood up and hugged him and he rattled off his immediate thoughts, “I’m sorry for leading the Aurors to you but I didn't know they had followed me until it was too late and I really had to see you…”

Warren patted his back, “Don’t worry about it. The important thing is that you’re safe.”

But you shouldn’t be here.

“No!” Hugo answered the second he read Warren’s thoughts, “I don’t want to go back! I’m not going back!"

"Your Mum sent you to him for a reason..."

"You can’t make me go back to him!”

"He can't but I'm going to have to insist," a cool voice answered and rang from different parts of the room.

Warren was smiling, "Harry, welcome."

Something tugged him hard from behind. Hugo fell to the floor just as Warren drew out his wand and shoot a curse past him. It bounced off mid air at the exact spot where his father appeared out of nothingness.

The Auror said in a disapproving tone, "Your hospitality still sucks."

A flurry of hexes zinged past him that he had to take cover, spells crashing against walls, ceilings and floors, destroying everything in their paths.

"Stop!!!" Grace was screaming, repulsed by the sight of her place being smashed up, "Stop this!"

But neither listened. As far as Hugo could tell neither had hit their target yet. Then, out of the corner of his eye he saw Grace, fangs out, and poised to attack. His father saw it too and Hugo reflexively blocked the curse the older wizard fired at her.

"Stay out of this!" his father bellowed at him as a stinging hex made him drop his wand.

"He's only trying to help!" Warren defended him, then charged the same time Grace pounced on the Head Auror.

The ensuing scuffle passed like a blur and was short lived. When the dust settled, his father had Grace immobilized and Warren on his back weapon-less, wand pointed at his chest. They were glaring at each other.

His hand shaking, Hugo raised his wand, aimed it at his father and demanded, “Let them go!"

The Auror flinched but continued to scowl at Warren, as the latter began laughing.

"It must be a bitch to know your son's loyalties don't lie with you," Warren goaded.

"His loyalties lie with his Mum," his father answered accurately, then coldly added, "Hugo, why don't you ask your Uncle Warren where your Mum is and why he wants us to believe she's dead. Because if I do it, I won't be half as nice."

It was a mind game. Hugo knew better that to start questioning the man who stood by his Mum when his father left her to deal with his mess time and time again. He looked at Warren just in time to see the smile on his face disappear as quickly as it formed.

Warren angrily replied in private, a thought that was certainly meant for his father to read.

Go back to London! You're going to get her killed!

XXXXXXXXXX

How was the first person thing? Should I quit doing it?

40. New Beginnings

A/N. I am grateful to those who take their time to review - I cannot write what I write without you.

Same rule applies in this chapter - the angsty past is italicized and 'skippable'. We pick up the past 3 weeks after Hermione finds out Harry and Ginny are married.

We see a bit more of Ted and his wife, Rosie, Hugo, and Professor Dumbledore.

Happy Easter!

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Chapter 40 – New Beginnings

Early July 2003 - Australia

I am in Perth. I have lost track of time but I think I've been here for about three weeks. My Mum is letting me stay with her. She's great even though I can't tell her much. She doesn't crowd me but she's there for me just the same and I know that someone cares.

I couldn't stay at St.Mungo's. I couldn't stand the waiting to get better. Every minute in my hospital room was a minute that he chose to be with someone else. I couldn't stand thinking this. It was quite obvious the wounds I had were of the kind the Healers couldn't heal and I wasn't going to get better any time soon so I discharged myself against Healer advice the day after I spoke with Harry.

I thought I could but I couldn't stay at Grimmauld either. When I got there I spent the entire night crying in bed, clutching his pillow and the little stuffed toy dragon with Harry's apology. It felt empty there as it had felt in the days before we were together and the vastness and hollowness of my world was magnified a hundredfold. I surrendered to the inevitable, allowing my memories of him to fill me but the absolute silence was a reminder that our baby was gone; that the Harry I knew was gone. The house was still and there was only me, weeping soundlessly. I cried until I was raw, until my tears were all spent and I couldn't anymore.

When I woke up the following day I started crying again. It was then when I realized that to stay there was inviting insanity. I picked up the phone, called my Mum and I asked to come.

So here I am three weeks later. It is sunset and I am walking on the beach. The sand crumbles under my feet and the cool waves lap up against my ankles. For the first time since coming here I notice this and for the first time I see that it is beautiful here.

The scenery reminds me of my Dad and what he loved about the place. I remember what he said about losing myself because of how much I love Harry. And while I know a part of me died the night he and our daughter were taken away, I am proud that I am still me.

In some ways I am better and in some ways I am not. I still cry about what happened in my solitude. But I didn't when Ron came last week and I didn't while Harry and Ginny came to see me a few days ago. The one person I've cried with is Luna and that happened the few times we reminisced about Dean.

Luna lives in Adelaide now. I saw her yesterday and she told me of this story that Dean made up as they watched a couple of really naughty Seven Legged Jumparoos...Dean was funny, so full of life, his entire life before him...

Anyway, Luna said something that rang true for me.

"Things happen, sometimes for no good reason, and we move on because it is the right thing to do."

I think about this in terms of what happened between me and Harry. I have no choice really. I move on because to not to is not an option. As hard as it is to imagine life without him, it is impossible to imagine giving up.

And thinking that has done wonders for me. I can feel the air again, smell the roses, see reasons behind the smiles on the strangers I meet during my daily walks on the beach. It isn't all about me. It isn’t all about him. There is more to me than us. Well, slightly more…

I am fine with this...I am fine...

A tall, blonde man is walking along the shore and is heading in my direction, his gait and his features familiar. I have to smile as I see he still has his leather shoes on and he is cursing each time the waves fill them with water.

"Fuck Granger," he greets her nary a grin, "You just had to be on a beach."

I read his mind. He hates the feel of sand on his feet and he hates the beach.

"Stop swearing. I'll get you arrested for disturbing the peace," I tell him, "What are you doing here anyway?"

"What does it look like? I hear you've been moping so I thought I'd expose you for the fraud that you are. The Granger I know wouldn't mope."

This is a blatant lie and he knows that I know. He laughs, amused then peers into my eyes and tries to read me.

He exclaims as he is unable to, "Holy fuck! Hallelujah! You've read the book!"

I wasn't totally unproductive. I turned to my books for comfort and read the one he gave me a few times.

"Proves I'm not moping," I reply simply, "And you've since become religious."

"Vampire encounters can make you see the light."

"I don't see the vamp marks," I say and I pretend to examine areas just above his collar. I heard he reported back last week with a hyperbole of a story claiming vampire bondage and torture, "Did they really turn you or was that just your usual Canadian hogwash?"

He doesn't show me his memories either. I like the practice and I can tell he likes being tested too.

"When you start seeing fangs make a run for it," he warns; the glint in his eye tells me he is joking. He redirects our conversation, "But enough about me."

He stops and looks at me seriously. I waver as I read the questions he has on his mind. And although he is absolutely the last person in the world I would imagine talking with right now, the answers to his queries come easily, maybe because he was there, he knows, and he is the only one who knows who asked.

We don't speak, thankfully we don't have to. But it gets overwhelming anyway that I have to look away. I fight off the urge to cry and I fail miserably. He swears under his breath and as I brush away the tears streaming down my cheeks, he awkwardly swings his arm over my shoulder.

That did it. I sob harder, more than I've had in recent days and I bury my face into his chest. Then I remember how different Harry's embrace was, how it was more tender, more reassuring, just more.

I pull away as soon as I realize this, gritting my teeth and willing the ache in my heart to get over it, to stop wanting Harry. Warren swears again. He doesn't care for this unwelcome contact either and I really shouldn't impose it on him. He is somewhat embarrassed. I have no secrets from him.

He tells me, "You know I'm no good for shit like this."

"Yeah, you're rubbish at it," I agree with him, "But thanks anyway."

I mean it. The fact that someone else knows how I really feel and why I feel the way I do helps. There's nothing like a listening ear to encourage self pity. He nods while he laughs at that last thought and follows me silently as I find my sandals and walk back to the boardwalk. He has left my mind and like me prefers the disconnect. As the street to where my Mum lives is coming up he breaks his silence with his usual bluntness.

"Snap the fuck out of it. The way I see it you have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about," he said, "If it wasn't for you Gaunt would still be alive today and who knows how many others he would have killed. You did the right thing."

I frown, thinking how that thought devalued the lives of those who died that night. I still think less lives would have been lost had we done it differently. We should have known he would know.

"And you should tell Harry the truth."

I've thought about this over and over again when the selfish side of me shakes me and screams at me, reminding me of what we had, what we lost, and what he didn't remember that I would never experience with anyone else. All the lost memories I could easily replenish through many means and yet I don't because it would feel so wrong.

"What is he supposed to do after? Believe me?"

"You have no reason to lie."

"Even if he believes me do you think he'll leave his wife who he loves for me who he doesn't? I can totally see him doing that."

"Take him to Grimmauld. He might remember."

"And if he doesn't what would that make me? The crazy obsessed friend who is ruining his happiness?"

There was that and the fact that restoring his memory was a violation of the deal. Death was clear about it; his life for his memories. If he regains his memories I shudder at the thought of what Death would do to him. Warren sees this.

"Fuck Death."

"What?"

"You heard me. Aren't you supposed to be its Mistress? Why is It calling the shots?"

"You do raise a good point."

He has given me ideas about my next conversation with Death.

Warren wastes no time moving on to a thought the evil side of me has skirted around once or twice before, "You do realize that you are letting her get away with it."

I tell him, "She doesn't know."

Warren went off on a logical tirade, "How can she not? How can she not remember he turned down her advance just the night before? He told her he was seeing someone. Didn't she even wonder why no one came for Harry at the hospital?"

"Death must have tampered with her memory too."

"You're not even sure..."

"I'm sure," I say firmly.

"Did you ask Death?"

"I don't have to. I'm sure," I repeat.

I know Ginny doesn't know. I looked into her mind. And besides, I know Ginny. Ginny would never marry Harry under the conditions Warren so aptly highlighted.

Warren lets it go reluctantly and moves on to his next unsolicited comment.

"Personally I'd rather play selfish shit-raiser to selfless martyr but that's just me. So, are you ever going to pick yourself up from this and do something with your life, or what?"

"I can't work for that git Humptail."

I called Kingsley the other day and told him I needed more time. It's not only Humptail, it's the Ministry and being around everything that reminds me of him.

"How about spending some time at the IMP?" Warren probed, "New beginnings, new team?"

I pick up that this is the real reason for his visit. He is recruiting.

"What kind of work?"

"Special teams for special criminals," he replied, "Somewhere you can put this invincibility of yours into good use, not that anyone else would need to know; a place away from London that could use someone like you "

He knows exactly what words to use. The second he mentions 'away from London' I am sold.

"Tell me more."

XXXXXXXXXX

Present time – Auror designated rendezvous point in Southeast Asia

Ted Lupin hung up the phone.

"Well?" an anxious Auror asked him.

"Harry has Hugo," he relayed to the eleven others, sighs of relief heard all around, "He says they're fine. He doesn't have Gates yet but he's close. We're to leave for London, do our caseloads as usual and await instructions."

The men and women in the room exchanged confused looks. One of them spoke up.

"But if he doesn't have Gates, then maybe we should stick around and trace him from the church."

"Maybe these brats can help us find him," said another, looking at the blond-haired boy with an evil eye.

There were a couple who nodded.

"The orders are to go back to London," Ted had to repeat Harry's instructions, "We all know he will have his reasons."

The reminder was enough.

"And these two?"

Hugo's non-magical friends were looking on with interest.

"We'll take them back to the IMAN, unharmed," he shot the boy werewolf a warning, "But only if they don't give us any more trouble."

"I can't believe you've never been in a werefight before," the boy taunted, "And you were born half werewolf?"

Ted ignored him but was crimson red from embarrassment. The boy almost escaped with the girl as he surprised everyone with his beastly transformation and beat five human Aurors including his werewolf form before being subdued by the others. He loosened the bindings on the two.

"Try it again, dog," Ted threatened, "I'll transfigure you into a shitzu for a week and we'll see if you'll be as smug after."

"I wouldn't mind if he was a shitzu forever," the girl found his threat amusing, "But only if you neuter him first and make him mute in the process."

"You're supposed to be on my side!" the boy protested.

"We agreed! We said we weren't going to try to escape! But you just had to show off!" the girl scolded.

"So, did you like the show? Was I awesome or what?! Wait till I tell Hugo about this."

The girl rolled her eyes up in exasperation as Ted told them to shut up.

They dropped off the wolf and the Martinez girl with their Headmaster and headed back to London. It was still night time when they got home and as he snuck into their bedroom his wife woke up.

"Is everything alright, Teddy?"

He slid into bed beside her and held her close.

"Everything is fine," he lied, then kissed her longingly.

"What's going on? I know something is going on."

"You know I can't tell you," he said apologetically, hoping she wouldn't insist.

But she did, "No one will have to know that you told me."

It was an old recurring argument.

"I'll know. Just let it go, will you?" he pleaded.

"Fine," she replied though it obviously wasn't.

Tory turned on her side away from him. He wanted to ask how her day went and what the Healer said about their baby. He knew his wife would not be pleasant about it so instead, he reached towards the bedside lamp and shut the lights off, looking forward to what craziness work would bring him tomorrow.

The crazier and the longer it would keep him away from here the better. Work he could handle; Tory on hormones he couldn't. He couldn't wait for things to be normal with her once their baby was born.

XXXXXXXXX

Present time – The Pitch

Rosie couldn’t sleep. She was livid at herself. She correctly deduced that Hugo was going to make a run for it but she should have expected he would do everything to prevent her from leaving. Really, she just wanted to help find her Mum’s killers.

No matter. She was going to track Hugo down and she had a good plan on how to do so. Taking a clean piece of parchment from Lily’s drawer, she scribbled a note.

Dad,

I want to help find Mum’s murderers. I hope you understand. Please don’t worry and don’t get mad.

Love always,

Rose

P.S. I know that you’ll still worry and totally freak at what would possess your fifteen year old daughter to think she can help find hardened criminals. I hope you remember all the crazy things you and Mum got into when you were fifteen and find it in your heart to be as understanding as Granma and Granpa were. Had they not given you the freedom, I can only imagine how badly things would have turned out. I will be okay.

She read it twice and folded it, placing it neatly on her pillow. It was obvious and rough around the edges but it would have to do. Tiptoeing out into the hallway with a rucksack of essentials, she snuck past James’ bedroom and past the door to Al’s quarters. It cracked ajar and she saw Al’s face emerge from the darkness within.

He had been avoiding her all night which was understandable, she thought. Hugo and this thing between their parents were just a lot to handle.

Al looked at her with a gravity he never did before and said, “I’m coming with you.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Present time – Undisclosed location - Southeast Asia

Hugo was excited and worried at the same time. It was not the time to ask questions even though he had a lot. The details of how his Mum survived the attack was unimportant and just like his father, he just wanted to see her. He'd feel much better if he just saw her.

Warren had been silent all this time he is leading them through an underground man made tunnel that connected Grace's restaurant to where his Mum was. His father has been very quiet too. They arrive at the old hospital through an opening under a gurney in an examination room.

Hugo could barely contain the pounding in his chest. Grace had been telling them how Muggle rebels used the tunnel network to get their wounded medical attention and to get into and out of town for supplies and information without detection.

They walked through near empty corridors and arrived in front of old wooden doors. Warren turned to him.

"She's not well."

Hugo nodded, steadying himself, focussing on how anything was far better than her being gone. Hugo caught his father's concerned gaze and for the first time in a long while felt something other than revulsion.

Warren pushed the door in and his eyes instantly fell on the figure lying still on a rickety old hospital bed. His feet brought him by her side without prompt and as he took her cold, unresponsive, soft hand into his he could not help the tears from blurring his vision. He sat on the chair beside her and the rest of the world disappeared behind him.

He whispered to her, "Mum..."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jessie watched on as Warren arrived with Harry, Hugo and the pale local woman who brought her meals since she came. For a moment she had thought it was Al sitting beside Hermione. She had not seen Hugo this way since that day he was born. She'd seen pictures of Harry as a young boy and the likeness was uncanny., she had goose bumps.

To her surprise Harry stayed back, his eyes transfixed on his son and Hermione, with a mix of concern and sadness. Her eyes welled up for him as she imagined what must be going through his mind. She had been so used to seeing Hermione carry on with the life she chose for her and her son without complaint or regret that Jessie did not appreciate until now how hard it could be for him. Hermione made an executive decision; he wasn't given a choice.

"Stop feeling sorry for him," Warren scolded, annoyed at her as he saw how sympathetic she was.

"I can't help it," she explained though she didn't really think she had to explain herself to him, "If you were Harry..."

Warren cut her off, "If I were Harry I would have left the bitch I was married to a long time ago and I would have seen Hermione doing what she did even before she did it. He made his own bed. No sympathy here."

She drew a breath in to calm herself down. There was no point continuing this conversation with him.

"Can you call off your mini-Dementors?" she referred to the trio of robe-clad wand carrying elves he had assigned to watch her and make sure she didn't escape, "I want to go back home."

"The deal was you wake her up, you get to go home."

"I'll come back. Seamus is probably worried..."

Warren snorted.

"What?!"

"Nothing," he replied, "Call home, leave a message and tell him you're still with your sick sister but you're fine. Your sister's name is Mildred."

"I have a sister named Mildred," she repeated blandly.

"From your mother's first marriage. You've been estranged and you never told him because there was no need to,” Warren explained.

"Why are we doing this? Nobody will care if I have a sister or not!"

He snapped back, "I told you. His being here and seeing her alive complicates things unnecessarily. But you just had to drag him in here, didn't you? You just had to get him involved."

"You're out of control," she spat back, "Get the fucking chip off your shoulder and tell him what this thing is all about. He can help."

"Sure, he can help get her killed," his words dripped with sarcasm, "Then after that, he'll make me break my promise to her not to get him killed. I don't like breaking my promises."

It was her turn to snort. Integrity was not a word one would associate with him. She was busy arguing with Warren she just noticed that Harry had approached them.

"How is she?" Harry asked.

Jessie didn't quite know what to tell him. On the one hand the Muggle supportive devices were no longer needed to keep her alive but on the other hand, there was no real scientific explanation why she still had not woken up.

XXXXXXXXXX

Present time – Somewhere neither here nor there, inside a leaky boat

Hermione blushed at the Professor's last remark as she remembered the humbling experience. Yes, she did have all three Hallows at some point and was a very involved Mistress of Death for a couple of years.

"It was arrogant of me to think I could control the powerful magic they wielded."

"You had noble intentions," the professor said kindly.

"I kept telling myself that. The Hallows changed me into someone I didn't like," Hermione paused and tried to shrug off unsavoury memories of that part of her life, "I had to give them up. I realized I didn’t deserve to be its Mistress."

"If it makes you feel better, at your age I would not have passed up on the challenge either," Professor Dumbledore admitted, "And you had a dire need to focus on something else."

She did. Being Mistress of Death gave her a purpose at a time when she felt like she didn't have one. She often wondered what would have happened if she didn’t spend those two years making North America a Dark Wizard and Dark Witch free zone. She probably would have stayed in London, worked for Kingsley and agonized over seeing the love of her life be somebody else’s.

"Professor, you know that Malvado wants the Hallows to preserve his immortality," Hermione waited as he nodded, "And only someone as immortal can challenge him and survive."

"You are wondering how does one kill someone immortal like him?"

"Actually I know the answer to that. One can't," she replied, "I was wondering if you have any ideas on how to make him mortal."

"But you should know the answer to that one too. You have more experience on the matter compared to any other living magical being, not including Harry, of course," Professor Dumbledore answered back, "And I'd rather not insult your intelligence."

She understood that to mean that she was on the right track.

"Have you decided what to do when you get back?” the old man asked.

“I know what I have to do."

She just didn't know if she could do it. The reunification of the Hallows was a big if. The first time she had them all it was more a coincidence and she wasn't sure if she could do it all over again. And Death still recognizing her as Its mistress even if she brought them back together was not a given either.

Letting the Hallows out into the open before it was time to do so was a risk she was still reluctant to take. Doing so would exponentially increase the chances of Malvado succeeding in his attempt to possess all three.

"And the Prophecy?" Professor Dumbledore asked.

"I don't care about the prophecy," she answered honestly. "I need to go back."

Dumbledore merely smiled at her inability to let ‘fate’ take its course. A broomstick appeared beside her from out of nowhere just as a whooshing sound descended upon them from the sky.

She had to groan inwardly as she recognized the flyer. Of all the dead people...

"Wulfric," the rider greeted.

"Chastity."

'Chastity?'

"I see you're looking as gay and merry as always."

"You know me, Chastity," the professor replied good-naturedly, "The afterlife is too short to be gazing into crystal balls and looking at tarot cards, fretting over what I cannot change."

"I wasn't. If you must know I was spending a lovely day in bed with a couple of lovers. I hope this is important,” the witch complained bitterly, “Who do I know is resisting the inevitable?"

Professor Dumbledore motioned over to her.

"Ms. Granger needs an escort and could use a chat."

Hermione didn't think so but what did she know.

"Waterloo! I should have known it was you."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Up next - a conversation with the Hag. I'm hoping to wake Hermione up and more about Malvado.

41. Intentions

A/N. No Harry or Hugo here.

Many had questions and observations about Ginny’s behaviour and Harry’s behaviour in the past that I felt the need to clarify. Much of this chapter is in italics - I hear the collective groan already : ) The official wedding – a conversation with Ginny – then Warren.

The Hag conversation turned out to be more serious that I thought. Then there’s the Minister.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 41 – Intentions

I've managed to stay away from London for six months. I've been extremely busy with work. I really have been. After all I am holding two jobs; one I get paid for and one I need to fill the rest of my day.

My official job is challenging enough. When Warren said I am joining a special team he used the word 'team' rather loosely. We are a group of five, four of us former Aurors and one I believe was once a criminal (I don't think this is advertised). I haven't seen any of my teammates in six months. We work as individuals in different parts of the world with minimal accountability and supervision, as long as we get the job done. The job is to investigate and eliminate Dark Wizardry threat in every way possible. It is mercenary work.

Being Mistress of Death is a lot of work too because Death doesn't want to work for anybody, particularly not one with rules. I've made quite a few, particularly around transitioning souls in between worlds, with the expectation that they are followed. I've also learned what I can and cannot do and found complimentary ways to use my new found powers in my day job. But that's an entirely different story I prefer not to delve into at the moment. I have reservations that what I've been doing with them is not entirely ethical.

I surprise even myself that it is easy not to be in London. It helps that I have no real reason to come, not the Ministry, not my second family and not my friends. Most of the gang have actually retreated into the busyness of their lives just as I have. At first I thought, or maybe 'hoped' is a better word, that I could disappear unnoticed. It is something I strongly considered doing but I can't make a clean break. I speak with some of them occasionally on the phone. Ginny a few times, Harry too. They call and I cannot ignore their messages. I also make it a point to see my Mum at least once a month and usually find time to meet with Luna. She is doing well in her new job too.

From my talks with Harry I know he doesn’t remember anything. He asked me mostly about work, things that he doesn’t recall and where documentation is unclear. I tell him about them as much as I can. Officially we only worked the one case, the Jollyweather robbery which wasn’t that exciting, and I tell him details of his other ones that I know of. He asked about what happened at the Bat Cave and I tell him exactly what our reports said, that we hid in the coffin in the hopes of searching the place without detection but Warren tripped off the alarms and all hell break loose. He seemed satisfied with my answer.

With the money I inherited from my father, the signing bonus from my new job and a loan I got with a goblin acquaintance of mine I paid up the Grimmauld balance a short while back. I don't know what to do with it but I tell him I'm renting it out. It is untouched since I left it months ago.

One time he asked me a question I should have been more prepared for.

“Was I seeing someone seriously?”

I tried not to get my hopes up.

“Do you remember seeing anyone?”

“No.”

“Then why are you asking?”

He tells me about this conversation he has with Ginny, about how women could conceivably claim something like that and he would have no clue if it was true or not.

“Has somebody come forward?"

"No, but it doesn't hurt to know someone could."

So maybe I am insulted that our relationship was not only forgotten but relegated as an FYI.

"Your question is kind of stupid. If you were seeing someone seriously and she wanted to reclaim you and your defective memory she would have done so already, wouldn't you think? What possible reason could she have for not coming out in the open about it?"

"Is this the beginnings of a rant?" he teased.

I ignore his attempt to keep our conversation light-hearted, "if you did have someone then that someone doesn't want you back probably because she's deeply hurt that you forgot about her or she thinks you're a git and that you're faking your memory loss so you won't have to break up with her, in which case you'd rather not know about her..."

"It is a rant."

"Or she could be dead or...has been abducted by black robed aliens and unable to communicate with you..."

"Abducted by black robed aliens?"

"Or she knows that it's pointless to remind you about the three months you spent together because you're obviously no longer serious about her and in love with someone else."

I stop, I can feel that my face is flushed and I am upset. Thankfully we are only talking on the phone.

"And the answer to my question is?"

Men are so clueless.

"Have you asked anyone else?”

“Yes. Nobody seems to think so,” he answered, "And Ron makes a good point that if that were the case then the gang would have known."

Thanks Ron.

“So why are you asking me?”

“Because if there was anyone who would know for sure it would be you.”

I take another big breath in to steady myself. I’m feeling like a yo-yo again. His question is like a glimmer of hope and although I knew it would just be more painful I ask the question anyway.

“Is everything okay?”

“Everything is fine. Well –except for my Healer telling me the memory loss appears permanent.”

“Are you happy with Ginny?”

“I’m happy beyond imagin…”

“Then why the fuck does it matter if you were seeing someone else before you married her? Are you going to divorce Ginny if there was someone?”

"No, but I could apologize."

"I'm sure that if there was someone else, your apology would make everything better for her."

“Okay - I get your point..." obviously not, "...but is the language and sarcasm really necessary?”

He was being an ass and he didn’t even know it. That was just before I got the invite.

Today I am back in London. I arrive at the Ministry somewhat later than planned and follow the witches, wizards and beings in dress robes heading for the Great Hall. Unfortunately only my death would be an excuse not to come. My best friends are getting married, again, and I have to be here. I am actually part of the ceremony and I am uncharacteristically late, banking on the off chance that they would decide to have it without me.

Ginny asked me to be her maid of honour but I had to decline as images of me wrestling Harry away from her during the ceremony came to mind. I can't trust myself to behave, especially not with so much advanced notice. That and I think it would have been an unreasonable expectation on myself to be intimately involved in the planning of their second wedding.

We negotiate, so I will be one of the bridesmaids. I ditch rehearsal, really, how hard can it be to walk down the aisle and smile all the time? I told her it would be an insult to my intelligence if she forced me to practice. She laughed and I let her think I was joking.

I get to the prep room hoping to see Ginny. She isn’t there. My fellow bridesmaids are all ready and before I can even say hi I instantly am attacked by magical groomers who have apparently been waiting anxiously for me. They whisk me away and talk about me like I'm not even there, how I am so late, how I am arrogant not to attend rehearsal, and how I am selfish not to think to get enough sleep so I could look half decent today. Did I not know everyone who was important in the wizarding word was going to be there?

I am riled up as they gang up on me to make me more presentable and I slip into this blue dress that is a couple of sizes too big for me. So I've lost weight in the last couple of months. They argue about how to fix this. Apparently shrinking it would ruin what the dress was meant to look like so they would have to pad me up.

I refuse and now I am being difficult. I am unsure about how much more of this abuse I can take when Mrs. Weasley shows up. She says hullo but I can tell she is stressed. There is some last minute crisis and Ginny wants to talk to me.

When I get to Ginny she is standing in front of a huge mirror, as stunning as any bride should be. The intricately woven white fabric she is wearing flows down her body immaculately with a perfection that one had to see to believe. She is glad to see me, it has been months since we've seen each other, and we hug in the midst of a collective vocal displeasure from the magical groomers as our dresses are ruined between us.

Ginny sends everyone away and once we are alone she looks at me through the mirror with worry in her eyes and admits nervously what isn’t obvious, "I can't believe I’m doing this."

I know she means the big crowd and the big production.

"You're about to marry him for the second time. Don't you think it's a bit too late for cold feet?" I joke dryly and she laughs as she agrees.

After a while she tells me, "I love him so much. And I know he loves me."

And because she is waiting for a response I nod and tell her, "I know. You have nothing to worry about."

"Are you happy for us?"

"Of course I am," I answer without even thinking and she seems relieved, "Why are you asking?"

"You haven't said much about us marrying each other."

"I congratulated you," and I think to myself, fuck, isn't that more than enough?

"I guess I was kind of expecting more."

"Like what?"

"I don't know - just more. You were never one to be at a loss for words before," she pointedly tells me. I am at a loss for words now so she continues, "You've drifted and I feel as if you're pushing us away. Harry says it's because of what happened that night, that you still blame yourself - I think it's because you're mad at us for marrying while you were in a coma. Is that the real reason why you refuse to be my maid of honour?"

I have to think about how to answer this. It was a consolation to know that at least they were concerned about her.

"I've had a tough time but I am much better now," I say honestly; I am here and to me that means I am better, "And I'm not pushing you away."

I am trying to stay away - big difference.

"You weren't mad at us for...?"

"Mad, no... I understand, really I do," I tell her sincerely, although it took me a while to get around to doing so, "The Healers had no idea if or when I would wake up. If you were in a coma, would you resent it if I went on with my life?"

"Maybe a tad," she admitted.

I cut through the chase. She has something else on her mind.

"What's going on? This seems hardly the time or place to be having this conversation."

I am right. There was something else.

"Druhilda can't make it; some family emergency," she rolls her eyes to signify just how much she believed her Quidditch team mate. The Seeker wasn't a very dependable person from what I've heard, "I can have the wedding without one and I’ll understand if you don't want to, but since you're here anyway, will you be my maid of honour?"

I hear myself saying ‘yes’ and before I realize what I've gotten myself into I am walking down the aisle hoping I won't trip in front of the close to five hundred 'close family and friends' in attendance. Not that it's any of my business but I had a feeling this isn't the marriage Harry had in mind. Ginny preferred a smaller wedding too but I guess it's a challenge to insist on a small wedding when you're a Quidditch goddess and you're marrying the Boy who saved the world.

The walk takes agonizingly longer than I figure and even more so as I approach the altar. Harry is in a tux looking handsome and composed. Our eyes meet. He frowns at first before he recognizes me and then he smiles.

And for a moment the music slows down for us, it feels like we're alone and I am the bride he is waiting for, as it would have been had things turned out differently. I remember what it was like. It seemed so long ago but I can take myself back easily and feel the warmth of his embrace, sense the tenderness of his touch and taste the sweetness of his kiss. And the best part of it all was that he was my best friend.

The Bridal March echoes through the Great Hall to herald the real bride and his eyes shift past me. I am brought back to reality. My evil self reminds me that he hasn't touched me or kissed me that way for quite some time and he never will. And I don't know if we can have the unquestioning and open friendship we once had ever again. I walk on to my designated spot, dying from this gnawing sensation in my chest.

This hurts. Why I decide to be here to witness this is now mindboggling. I try and comfort myself with the thought that this is part of my healing but I know that's a load of rubbish. Hearing them exchange vows is absolute torture. She tells him her love for him is boundless. I can't listen to his.

I am in tears, which is okay because all the bridesmaids and half the women in the front row are too. It is almost over. The magical cleric is asking if there is someone who knows of any reason why they shouldn't be bound in holy matrimony, to speak now or forever hold their peace. It is tempting, not so much to change the outcome, but to set the record straight.

I look at Harry, his eyes on Ginny's. He is happy. I can’t ruin this.

I hold my peace.

Much later, the reception is over and my jaws are sore and stretched to a permanent happy pose. The gang is extending the party at Finnigan’s and they insist that I come. I change my earlier plan to leave early and decide to join them, choosing that over dissecting what just happened. I am glad I get to catch up with my friends.

As the couples of the gang depart I end up talking with Ron, about Harry and Ginny for a bit then about his work. I talk about mine. He has to leave too because of some meeting but we promise to be in touch, which knowing Ron, I won't hold my breath. I look around and am thinking about leaving too when the barkeep hands me another margarita.

I look at the man sitting at the very end of the bar who is buying the drink and raise the glass up to him in thanks. I take a sip, he joins me.

"You made it to the wedding after all," I tell him as he sits where Ron was seated earlier, "I thought you were on the bride's veto list."

"Harry wears the pants in the house," he replied simply and I give him a disapproving look which he ignores, "With that many guests crashing the party was child's play. Sorely disappointed though. I was hoping for a catfight or something to break out."

"Sorry," I reply, "I did briefly consider it."

"I didn't think you'd come."

"I did."

"Regrets?"

"None."

"You're a glutton for punishment, you know that?"

"Had to be here. I needed a funeral," I say and I can't look at him because I know that if I do I'd cry.

"Are you okay?"

"I was perfectly fine until you showed up," I quip and he laughs. "You should have stayed in the corner and left me alone."

We laugh about this together, amused at the situation. I find out he has been there for a while.

"Why didn't you join us earlier?"

"Your crowd is intimidating."

I read 'boring' in his mind.

"Shut up."

"And Ronnie wanted to take you home. I didn't want to interrupt."

I think he wants me to say I would have never gone home with Ron. I don't know the answer to that. I change the topic.

"Haven't seen you in a while. Is it that busy out in Southeast Asia?"

He nodded, "I may need some help with a case. How's your load?"

"Light."

"I'll send you specifics when I get back."

We talk shop a bit more. He asks me how my 'slave' is coping and I tell him the more interesting parts. Then after that we don't speak for a while and drink our drinks.

My thoughts wander. The wedding has opened up wounds as fresh and as deep as before and the short ceremony quickly undid the six months I nursed myself to relative wellness. It hurts worse now that it is official that Harry is with someone else and that the permanence of what happened has set in. It frustrates me. I just want to feel better already.

My frustration turns into anger. I am angry at myself for making the deal with Death and I am angry at Harry for not having a strong enough love to overcome it. I am angry at him for making me believe it possible and then marrying someone else. I am angry at him although the reasons I find are not justified. I find being angry with him makes the pain tolerable.

Then I hear music in the background. I don't know what it is but it's slow and sad and drags a dull knife across my chest. My eyes are burning.

"I want to dance," I say out of the blue.

He turns towards me and tells me firmly, "I don't."

"Well, I do, so stop being a prick," I answer with a freedom that I know I can get away with, "What good are you if you're not going to dance with me."

"I'm not a nice guy."

"Pretend."

He reluctantly takes me by the hand. We dance and sway to the music as I listen to the dirge. I don't cry. I refuse to.

It's not going to be like this forever, I tell myself, it has to get better.

He pulls me in closer and we dance more intimately. The closeness hurts because it the closeness I can no longer have with Harry. I bite back the tears as he moves back and swears in his head. I look up, my jaws clenched to keep myself from crying openly and I see him briefly looking down upon me with a tenderness I longed so much to see. It didn't matter that his eyes weren't green but that they were someone's who cared.

I reach for the moment not knowing when or if the moment would ever come again. I only know that I need the moment and I need it now.

He is shaking his head. He doesn't think it's a good idea.

He tells me wordlessly, 'You know what kind of a person I am. You won’t handle this well in the morning.'

I reply, 'I can hold my own. What are you afraid of?’

It was a question he asked me once before. He doesn’t answer but he is thinking about it. Then something he said before comes to mind. He stays away from damaged goods.

I don’t wait. I don’t want to wait and hear his rejection. That would just kill me.

I leave and head to my hotel. When I arrive Warren is there by my door in his normal appearance. I let myself in and he follows me into my room.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione hadn't seen the Hag since the Gaunt case. She didn't even know the Hag had died.

The Hag picked up on her curiosity, "Thought I would live forever, didn't you?"

"Close to forever. Don't evil people have a habit of sticking around?"

“Hah! That’s a good one,” she complimented.

“How did you die?”

“Peacefully, in my sleep.”

“How most unfortunate.”

“I didn’t suffer.”

“That’s what I meant about being unfortunate.”

“Waterloo, you have certainly gotten better with age. And even in death you're still causing me grief," the Hag said as she hovered a couple of feet from the boat deck.

Hermione smirked, "I don't think I've repaid you nearly enough for the grief you've caused me."

"True," she replied laughing. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Hermione thanked the Professor, got on the broomstick and kicked off. She flew beside the Hag for a while wondering what they were supposed to talk about.

The Hag spoke, "Ask me the question about Harry."

She did as she was told, "When you came to help us with Gaunt and foretold I would lose our baby even before I knew I was pregnant, did you see I was going to lose him too?"

"Of course."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Would it have changed your decision to go to the Jugular that night to arrest a very dangerous criminal?"

She answered, "I would have thought about it twice."

"You can lie to yourself but you cannot lie to me. You don't believe in predictions, never have and never will. You would have chosen to do what you knew in your heart was right. And you did right. If you had not gone, Gaunt would not have been there, and who knows how many others he would have killed and tortured before someone caught up to him. You would not have forgiven yourself as you still haven't forgiven yourself for the ten who died that night. Just multiply that ten times over," the Hag explained calmly, "Had I told you what else you were going to lose because of the choice you were going to make you would have felt more terrible after, if that is even imaginable. And you would not have become mistress of death."

She found that amusing, "I guess I should thank you."

"You should," the Hag replied admonished, "But you won't because you hate me to my core and don't believe for a moment I was doing you any favours."

"The training? Was that to prepare me to become Death's mistress?"

"Yes. And to understand who Harry is to you and how painful it can be that he will belong to someone else."

"You should have just told me.”

“You would have quit sooner than you did. I had to keep you interested.”

“Had I not insisted to go ahead with the Gaunt case, Harry and I would have gotten married and we would have had our baby."

"You were at a crossroad and you chose one path over the other. It is quite easy to believe that things would have been better had you done that. But I saw a totally different vision of how things would have gone down. You were harder on yourself then and difficult to bend in so many ways. The guilt of Gaunt still being alive would have killed you, you would have resented Harry for influencing your decision and every other decision he would influence from then on. You would have been unhappy."

"We loved each other. We would have worked things out."

"I wouldn't dwell on that what-if if I were you. Understand this. It was not destined to be. You cannot fight destiny. You were destined to be Death's Mistress but you gave up the Hallows," she scolded.

"It wasn't for me."

"You spurned destiny."

"Your vision of my destiny changed me into someone I didn't want to be," she challenged, "I chose to alter its course because I could."

"You chose to go back and work for the Ministry. Was it your intention to stir up trouble? To make him remember?"

"Of course not. It had been years and I didn't think he would ever remember. I had to find myself, regain my bearings and I am myself the most when I am around him. Everything was fine until he found out about our past."

"Then you ran away from the truth again."

"It was for the best."

"That is a matter of wide opinion. You did realize quite belatedly that there were others you should have considered. And what you've done with the Hallows I would have never guessed. So maybe there is hope for that stubbornness and arrogance of yours. Tell me though," the Hag said in her up to no good tone, "How can you trust the Chameleon to do as you've asked him to do? I called him the Chameleon for good reason."

"He will choose what's right when the time comes," Hermione defended Warren.

"You know what he did with his life after you married," the Hag brought up a very good point, "The Chameleon was the best complement to your Mistress of Death, not Heartbreak, and not your ex-husband. He has powerful and evil tainted blood yes but your choice not to go with the flow affected him rather unkindly. I don't believe you're so naive to think that his backslide wasn't borne partly because of his loss. Are you certain what you feel for him isn't guilt or gratitude disguised as trust?"

"I know him."

"Such certainty is folly when he is not letting you read his entire mind anymore."

"He's back with the Light."

"He may be but for how long?"

"You're the fortune-teller; you tell me."

"Seer."

"Whatever."

"I can't see his future. Of my students he is the one I have mostly foggy visions of, except for the times he was connected with you," the Hag explained, "You have this flaw trusting people you shouldn't and not trusting people you should. Not that I know for sure he would not do as you expect, I'm just not clear why you would have Hugo look up to him more than Heartbreak, who we all can predict will always do the right thing. And it is not surprising that no matter what you do your boy doesn't look up to Heartbreak seeing that you continue to castrate his father right before his very eyes."

"I beg your fucking pardon?"

"You heard me. You have emasculated Heartbreak by continuously excluding him not only from information about what's going on around him but most importantly from having the opportunity to do the decent thing."

"That wasn't my intention!"

"Oh well, we all have good intentions. Between Wulfric, you and that wife of his I'm sure he's fed up with good intentions already," the witch scoffed, "And this from people who supposedly care about him."

The Hag left the conversation at that, leaving Hermione to digest what they just talked about. She hated to admit it but the witch brought up good points.

As if the Hag perfectly timed their trip to end just as their conversation did they touched down on moist grass next to a most unusual waterfall. It was about two hundred feet high, water cascading noiselessly in the opposite direction. Save for the pool before them, they were surrounded by lush trees and plants of varying hues of green. The air was perfectly cool and the silence in it was one she had never experienced before.

"This is where I leave you," the Hag told her and pointed to the pond, "Walk into the water. It will take you back. It was invigorating talking with you as always."

She would never say it was the same for her.

"Hag," she called out just before she stepped into the water.

"Yes, Waterloo?"

"No dreadful parting predictions this time around?"

The Hag laughed, "What does it matter? You wouldn't believe me anyway."

In the blink of an eye the Hag was gone. She walked deeper into the pool and then all of a sudden, an invisible tide swept her in and effortlessly took her upstream. Dry and weightless she felt the rush of freedom as she reached where the water met the sky. At the pinnacle, just as images of the scene began to blur she caught a glimpse of the raging river beside the tranquil lake she was in. Someone familiar was in it. Someone she wished she could talk with.

XXXXXXXXXX

The Minister usually woke up 4 am to get a head start. His personal elf usually woke him up. So when Leonidas Jericho woke up and saw it was past 6 he was livid. He shot up from his bed to unexpectedly find that he wasn't alone.

"Good morning, Minister," greeted the wizard coldly.

It was Salazar Malvado's right hand man.

"W-what are you d-doing here?" he stammered, looking around, wondering what happened to his Auror guard.

"They are busy at the moment," the man answered his unannounced question, "Salazar sends his regrets."

He got out of bed and approached warily.

"I want to talk to him," the Minister made it clear, "Not you - him."

"He's busy. He sent me."

"I want him to call off his men. We had a deal."

"The deal was you'd turn over the Hallows quietly and he will spare your precious London."

"I already gave him two of the three!"

"No cloak, no deal."

"I was working on it! But his assassins...!"

"Did as they were told to do," the man showed no remorse, "We thought the POTH was behind the robberies, their means of alerting the Aurors that something was up. And that was a lame idea on your part. Did you really think you'd find the cloak this way?"

"I was given a deadline. I was exhausting all avenues to re-aquire the cloak. You should have asked me first before killing the people I hired."

The wizard's gaze pierced through his thoughts like a knife and he frowned.

“Potter knows you are responsible for the robberies?"

"I told him."

"That wasn't very smart."

"I had no choice. I had it all under control but with the deaths he was bound to find out," he defended his decision, "And I told Salazar to leave the POTH alone."

“They know where cloak is, just as they knew where the stone and the wand were.”

“They are bound by the Fidelus. They will not tell. There is no way around that.”

“One of them must be the Keeper.”

“Granger was smart. If she was not the Keeper then I am beginning to think the Keeper is not one of them. It will be stupid to kill all of them. The cloak will be lost forever.”

“Acquiring the cloak has become secondary. It is in our best interest that the POTH be eliminated,” the man told him what he already knew, “What are you going to do about Potter? He will expose you."

"Not until he finds out more about what this is all about. I must speak with Salazar. I want his men out of my jurisdiction. And if he cannot promise to finish Potter off then I must act now to protect myself."

"I will relay your message."

The wizard made a move to leave.

“Wait.”

“Yes, Minister?”

“I told Potter you sold her out. Potter is going after you.”

“Thanks for the late warning. I already know.”

Malvado’s right hand man left. The Minister breathed a sigh of relief. Things were progressing as expected and all he had to do was sit back and wait. Hopefully Malvado would pay for the grave error he made when he killed Hermione Granger. He thought that it would be the other way around. It was indeed a tall order to rid the world of someone invincible but if there was anyone who could kill the Master of Death it would be Potter. Of course he would have deal with Potter after if he survived.

The Minister was confident that Potter would not make the same lethal mistake Granger made. Potter would know never to trust the man who just left his bedchamber. The Minister could never understand why Granger insisted on trusting Warren Gates.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hope that was clear.

Will skip next few years of the past. The affair is next.

42. Hay, Horse, Carriage

A/N. Yes, it has been a while. I’m sorry. Nothing like doing one’s taxes to kill creativity :).

I have a confession – this chapter has gone longer than expected (my fault – I got carried away) so the affair has to go on the next one. There were questions about why Hermione ended up with Ron and why they broke up. I realized I had to write about that and I had to set the stage for the affair.

Harry’s POV here. This is 4 years after Dean died, Hermione is back in London after a long absence, and she and Harry talk like they used to. If your head hurts trying to follow the conversation about the hay, the horse and the carriage I truly apologize :blush: I did have a point to make about all that and I hope some will get it.

The last bit is Warren’s explanation to Harry about why he’s doing what he’s doing. Hugo has a brief part.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 42 – Hay, Horse, Carriage

June 9, 2007 – Diagon Alley

I am in front of Finnigan’s. It is after ten, kind of late for me to be here but I overheard she was going to be here tonight. I have to talk with her. I promised Ron I would.

As I go through the door I glance over to where the gang usually sits and immediately see her. She sees me too, smiles and nods. Seamus waves me over. It’s a bit of a crowd today. Justin and Susan are here, Jessie is sitting beside Seamus, Neville and Hannah in their corner and Terry and Padma are there too. I had hoped I would catch her semi-alone. But she doesn’t come here as often and never by herself, not since Dean died.

I say hi to everyone and she moves closer to Justin to make room for me. I lean over to hug her and she returns it, noticing, like I do each and every time, how she never initiates them anymore and how different they are from her old Hogwarts bone crushing ones. I chastise myself. Really, it has been like that for almost four years. In fact our friendship has not been the same since about the same time. We've kind of drifted apart and aside from the physical distance (she hasn't lived in London for a while) I haven't really figured out why, which is probably why I am still hung up about it.

Seamus has my drink in front of me before I can even sit.

“Just in time, Harry,” Justin starts up the conversation that I interrupted, “We need another expert opinion.”

“Uh-oh,” I say, wary about what sort of foolishness Justin has under his sleeves, “If this is going to get me in trouble with my wife again I prefer not to answer.”

They laugh at my joke. These round table discussions often times revealed more than what Ginny or I would want others and us to know about us, but I guess that was true for everybody who participated. That was the point of the questions.

“Where is Ginny?” Hermione asks.

“Holyhead.”

Ginny was with the team.

“The kids?”

“Their favourite place in the world,” I say with a bit of resentment and she chuckles. The Burrow was Rosie’s favourite place too, “Where’s your little troublemaker?”

“My Mum’s for a couple of days.”

Justin carries on, “Our two engaged couples want to know what to expect in years to come.”

“Do they really?” I answer and looked over to Seamus and Neville. Seamus was laughing but Neville looked pale, “Seamus, I think Neville needs a lot more to drink.”

Hannah tries to console her boyfriend as we all have a little fun with how he seemed really nervous.

“Hermione was just pointing out that she doesn’t think love has anything to do with getting married,” Seamus tells him.

“No, you misunderstood,” Hermione defended herself, “I think love factors a lot into one’s decision to marry. Many decide to marry because of love."

"Are you saying that you didn't?" Susan asks, horrified.

I'm horrified.

"Honestly now," Seamus did his best Hogwarts know-it-all Hermione impression, "Can you really imagine Hermione marrying for any other reason?"

"Thank you, Seamus," Hermione replied as the laughter died down, "All I'm saying is get a carriage because you want a carriage; not because you happen to have a horse."

“Honey, what is she drinking? I want some of that because I don’t understand a word she’s saying,” Jessie quipped, maybe on the tipsy side already.

I clarify, "There's a Muggle saying; love and marriage go together like a horse and carriage. I think what Hermione is trying to say is that you best be in love when you get married but that doesn’t mean you should get married just because you’re in love. You should get married because you want to get married,” I glance over to her, “Am I right?”

“Precisely.”

“You agree?” Neville questions.

I nod. I never thought of it that way but hearing it for the first time now I do. I did get married basically because I was in love not knowing fully what exactly it was I was getting myself into.

“She’s right.”

"So why get a carriage?" Seamus asks the group.

"Because it's shiny, it's pretty and everyone wants one," Justin said sagely

"It's an expectation. Society wants you to get married," expressed Susan, who we all knew didn't want to get married, “But it’s good for business so I shouldn’t complain.”

"It's nice to have one, actually," Padma admits, "It feels more secure riding in it that on a horse."

"Horses can carry more load over long distances with a good carriage,” I take Padma's side, believing that to be true and partly making me feel better than I choose to have one.

“Or the carriage can break down a lot and wear the horse out,” Hermione interjects, taking the opposite.

“Maybe it wasn’t a good horse to begin with,” I say.

“Maybe.”

“Nothing to worry about honey,” Seamus turns to Jessie, “Ours is a stud.”

“It’s the kids. When the kids get on the carriage, I don’t care if that horse you have is a thoroughbred. Kids in the carriage definitely slow the horse down,” Terry opines and Padma turns motherly.

“What a terrible thing to say about our kids!”

“I’m not saying that about our kids, I’m saying kids in general,” Terry was in deep shit, “But it’s true. Harry, you can back me up on this. Since having kids have you noticed how much less sex you have with Ginny?”

“Sex? What’s sex?” I try to diffuse the situation.

We laugh, so does Padma and Hermione wordlessly acknowledges my good deed.

Susan adds, “My cousin says the same thing. He swears his kids have little radars. One minute they’re asleep and he thinks he can get some, just as things heat up a bit, one wakes up and wants to sleep in their bed, between them.”

We howl as Seamus and Jessie swear never to have kids. I think they're more serious about it than anyone else realizes.

"So, what does sex and kids have to do with the horse and the carriage?" Neville wasn't following.

"Sex is horse's hay," Justin explains slowly, "it keeps the horse alive."

"It's one of the things that keeps the horse alive," Padma quickly corrected, "There are others, as equally important."

"Good hay is all I need," Seamus said brashly.

"Great hay once in a while," Terry expressed wistfully, then with bitterness that seemed quite real, "Except when you're dragging a carriage more often than not you won't get good hay."

"Will you stop picking on the carriage already?" his wife rebukes him.

"My suggestion," I look at Neville in the eye, "Get lots of good hay before getting that carriage."

Neville turned pale, "But my grandmother always said to get the carriage first before having hay and make sure you have a horse before getting the carriage."

"That's just totally ridiculous!" Justin blurts out, "Hay can exist without the horse. To not have hay without the horse and the carriage?! That’s setting us back to the nineteen hundreds."

Hermione jumps in, "Guys, enough already. Poor Neville's going to have nightmares about the bloody carriage."

But it goes downhill from there.

"Or have it in writing to have lots of hay in the carriage before buying it," Terry continues to dig himself a grave.

"It's not all about the hay," his wife argues, "A good horse gets good hay."

"I have to say I'm with Terry on this," I get into it, "Good hay keeps the horse healthy."

Hermione disagrees, "Horse should come before hay."

Seamus gets involved, "With me hay came first. It used to be all about hay."

"Hay can exist without a horse," I repeat what Justin said earlier, "But the horse can't exist without hay."

"Sure it can," Hermione argues.

"Seriously?" I confirm.

“In your experience, did your horse come before the hay?”

She knows my answer to this so I’m in trouble. There is this glint in her eye that she’s got a good point to make and I answer knowing I am walking right into a trap.

“Yes, it did.”

"If the horse can come before the hay then it must have existed without hay," she points out, "If it existed without hay before the hay came then therefore it can exist without hay."

I knew she would get me on that one.

"There seems to be a disparity amongst expert opinions," Justin jibes.

"Fine," I give in to her supposition, "I can imagine a horse existing without hay at first but it has to be fed to continue to exist. The hay can exist on its own and so can the carriage but not the horse. It has to have hay, in one form or another."

"I think we're talking of a different kind of horse."

I lift my brows, challenging her, "I've never heard of a horse that lives on without food."

She is forced to come up with an answer and she says the first thing that comes to mind, "A cursed horse does."

"A cursed horse?"

"A cursed horse," she repeats without further explanation.

I start laughing and she does too. Then everyone else does.

We are in tears when I finally tell her, "You do realize your arguments are sounding very much like Ron's."

"Yeah, it is kind of embarrassing."

The group moves on to talk more about what else to feed the horse to get it going. Us boys pretty much stick to our guns about the hay, especially after acquiring the carriage, while the girls insist that there are more important stuff, like romantic dates and dinners, surprise gifts, jewellery and apparently, not falling asleep right after having hay was right up there in the list.

It is becoming late. Terry and Padma have to leave. So do Neville, Hannah, Susan and Justin. Jessie and Seamus get into their own discussion. We turn to each other and I motion her to the bar. She takes her drink with her and I finally have her to myself. We sit down.

"So, how are you?" I ask her quietly.

"Just fine."

She looks fine for someone who is about to go through divorce. I don't believe her. Her 'I'm fines' have not sounded sincere for a long time, at least not to me.

I waste no time getting to the point, "What happened?"

"The inevitable," she said with an embarrassed smile on her face.

I only shake my head, amazed at her uncanny ability to remember things I say to her, even ones I don't want to remember. It was unsolicited advice days after they announced their engagement I gave her my two cents worth but she shut me out then, said she was happy.

When I press her for details she is frank about what she thinks went wrong and when they went wrong. I find out that she really thought things would work out with Ron. They were getting along so well, that was until she switched jobs and travelled less after she had Rosie more than a year ago. Being more at home than away and spending all that time with Ron highlighted the reasons why they broke up years ago and why they probably shouldn't have gotten married in the first place. Ron is my best friend so I have to say something.

"Ron's quite devastated."

"I know," she replies.

"You're sure about this?"

"He asked you to make me change my mind, didn't he?"

She is right.

"He's not convinced you should give up."

"I can't let Rosie grow up seeing us like that. And I don't want it to get to the point that we don't respect each other anymore. It was time."

"Did I tell you he's devastated?"

"Did you tell him you think we're better off?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you harassing me?"

"So I can tell him I did. I promised I'd make a last ditch effort on his behalf."

She laughs knowing I've always been this way with Ron and her. And Ron and she both know I do this so I can remain friends with both of them even during their bitter fights.

"Tell him you did your best but I'm as stubborn as always and you can't understand why he'd want me back."

"I can understand why he wants his family back."

She kind of squirms.

"Can we talk about something else?"

"This is huge, Hermione," I tell her seriously, not letting her get off that easily and ask again "Have you really thought this through?"

She looks at me and nods; she has thought it through. She has no regrets. They have Rosie and all else, good and bad, pale in comparison. Children do have a way of doing that. I find I have nothing more to say.

"A cursed horse, huh?" I remember her passionate point earlier, still finding it amusing, "I take it you weren’t talking about Ron."

She merely laughs again and asks the barkeep for another Screwdriver. I know it isn't Ron and I wonder who it is she is talking about, if there was indeed someone. I hope it isn't Warren. Before Ron she was with him.

I was quite worried about her then. That was just after Dean died. Ginny referred to that time as her ‘year with the devil’, when she worked for the NAIMP and with Warren. My wife has a very low opinion of my ex-partner. Hermione had always denied she was seeing him in that sense, but Ginny insisted and I had a feeling she was lying so we wouldn't worry and get on her case about it. I myself have a very low opinion of my ex-partner when it comes to his treatment of the women in his life.

It was a relief when their non-existent relationship finally became truly non-existent. She left the NAIMP and worked for Kingsley, mostly overseas diplomatic work. It was then when she began seeing Ron again. That was about two years after the Gaunt incident. I remember because that happened after we had James. Then weeks after Ginny became pregnant with Al, she married Ron. Warren wasn’t at their wedding.

"I saw Warren the other week," I tell her.

"Oh? How is he?" she asks, genuinely curious.

I laugh inwardly as I recalled what he said then, that he was busy fulfilling the Hag’s prophecy about seeding the world. I don’t mention this to her.

"He seemed fine."

"Is he still with the IMP?"

He wasn't. I mention the rumours that he was doing freelance mercenary work. I know she's upset, maybe disappointed too although she is trying not to show it. She skilfully steers our conversation off to something else, about her new role in Kingsley’s staff that will keep her London based for a while.

“An office at the Ministry. That’s great. I’ll be seeing more of you,” I say honestly.

“It’s good to be back.”

She mentions how she briefly considered moving to Perth to be closer to her Mum but that she realized that would be unfair to Ron and Rosie. And besides, she has always considered London to be home and that was why she and Ron invested in a house in the outskirts of the city. They were planning on moving back from Edinburgh, well, before she asked him for a divorce. I ask her why not live at Grimmauld and she tells me she prefers the quiet Muggle neighbourhood. She thinks it better for Rosie to grow up there.

We talk a bit about the changes in the Ministry, the ongoing politics, and eventually we land on how Ginny and I are coping with the demands of our careers and of parenthood. I find myself easily admitting to her that not all is as great as it seems to everybody else.

"It's not exactly how I thought things would turn out to be," I say, frowning at the feeling of déjà vu that just hit me that we had talked about something like this before.

"What did you expect?" she asks.

"I don't know. Just not this," I hear myself say.

I can't explain it; this is the first time I'm thinking this and even I don't know what I really mean.

And before I know it I am venting frustration after frustration; how Ginny is away a lot and how when she's around the little time she has is spent mostly with James and Albus. I complain about how when we do find time for each other we don't talk about much else aside from the kids. It just seems that we constantly don’t have time.

Hermione is listening attentively, letting me say what I didn't realize I've been holding back. I've never mentioned them to Ginny because they're horrible and I feel ashamed that I am thinking them.

"Don't beat yourself up too much," she says after.

"I was counting on you to chew my head off for being selfish."

"Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Tell me I'm wrong to want Ginny to stop doing what she's doing so she can stay home and take care of our family."

"You are wrong."

"I should be more supportive."

"Uh-huh."

"I need to change my expectations."

"Probably."

"How do I stop myself from wanting that for my family?"

"I don't know,” she replies honestly, “Have you mentioned this to Ginny?"

"I can't tell her because she'll give everything up for me if I do."

She understands what I mean, “I can definitely see her doing that.”

“I don’t want her to. Well, I do, but not if it comes from me,” I’m deflated, “I feel such a hypocrite.”

“You’re not. You have wants. You’re just being human,” she is trying to make me feel better.

“Many days I am so tempted to tell her.”

“It is hard to stay decent,” she doesn’t look at me but sports her trademark knowing smile, “And it is painful knowing how terrible human beings we can be. Even just thinking the possibility makes us feel bad, probably worse than actually crossing the line.”

She speaks from her heart. She has been through something painful and similar.

“Have you ever crossed that line?”

“Yes, and it’s not worth it. You lose yourself and it’s hard to go back.”

She looks at me and for the first time in a long while she lets me look into her eyes. Although it makes me uncomfortable somewhat for reasons I can't understand it is a good thing.

"You've changed," I tell her holding her gaze.

She smiles weakly and answers, "We've all changed, Harry."

"That's true,” I reply then frown as I think for a while before I decide, “I kind of like this change."

"How so?"

"It's closer to the old you. I miss the old you."

She admits as much.

"I miss the old me, too."

I take her home. I think about what I came to see her for and what we ended up talking about. I am glad she is back in London. I can’t imagine having the same conversation with anyone else and I kick myself for not reconnecting with her sooner. It felt off that she didn’t tell me what I should do, though at our age it would probably be more strange if she did. But I did feel better knowing that someone understood.

As I leave we promise to get together when Ginny is back from Holyhead. I apologize for pouring my guilty conscious all over her on her first day back and she jokes that she doesn't mind hearing about my troubles as long as we don't talk about hers. We hug, this time longer, to comfort; at least that's how it feels for me.

Her embrace reminds me of who she is in my life and that she will always be that person for me. Hermione is the one being I can be totally open with, who didn't see me as a hero, who will accept me no matter what. What did she say? It was okay to feel what I was feeling because it was human to feel that way.

The thoughtful comment tugs at my heartstrings and lifts my spirits up. I am not as asinine as I think I am. Then something happens. I smell her perfume and I have to step away as I feel a fluttering knot in my stomach. And vaguely I think this isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way about her.

I brush the thought aside. Yes, I am human. On my way to the Burrow I still don’t know what to do about Ginny.

Love, marriage and children – I have all those now and my life isn't quite how I imagined it would be. What if this as good as it gets?

XXXXXXXXXX

Present Day – Southeast Asia – 9am Local Time , 3am London Time

Harry was seething with rage.

"What are you up to?!" he confronted Warren, trying to keep his voice down but not succeeding.

"I'm trying to keep her alive!"

"She has magical injuries! She needs to be in a magical hospital!"

"Malvado will find out. He will come after her again!"

"Then let him try," Harry retorted, "We'll be ready for him!"

"You can't protect her!"

"No one will touch her while I'm alive!"

Warren rolled his eyes up and said in a patronizing tone, "He'll just kill you then he'll kill her. Then your wife will be a widow and your brats will be orphans. Normally I wouldn't care but I did promise her I will do my best to prevent you from getting yourself killed..."

Harry had enough. He took a step in and hissed through gritted teeth so only Warren could hear.

"Look, you're an asshole. We all know that. But stop fucking around and tell me what this is all about. And if you so much as fib I will take you down and drag you to the IMP prison myself."

He glared at the Canadian. Warren knew he never made empty threats. The ex-Auror motioned him over to a more private nook. Harry went with him and when Jessie followed Warren stopped.

"It's okay," Harry said to Jessie, "I've got this."

Jessie went back to Hermione's bedside and once they settled at the spot, Warren spoke, "Two years ago the IMP sent me here with five others to infiltrate the Malvados and terminate their leader. It took us a year to get close enough only to find out that Malvado cannot be killed."

"What do you mean?"

"He's invincible. Nothing can kill him, Muggle or Magical."

Several thoughts went through his mind. Horcruxes, Hallows…

"How?"

"We don't know for sure, though he claims he is immortal because he is Death's son."

"Really," Harry was sceptical.

"So he's fucking crazy but still indestructible. Hermione was helping me find out how to get rid of him and Malvado wants her dead because he found out she was once Jean Peverell. He's afraid of Jean Peverell. He believes she is the Mistress of the Elder wand and the only one who has the potential to be as invincible as he is. That's also why he wants the Hallows. He wants to prevent her from uniting them and becoming the Mistress of Death."

"Whoa! Back up for a sec," Harry raised his hand and tried to keep up, "I'm obviously missing many pieces here. Gaunt died Master of the Wand. Hermione wasn't its mistress."

"I hate to be the one to break this to you but she lied to you and to everyone else," Warren replied, "The wand was loyal to her that night Gaunt tried to kill her. She thinks she might have accidentally wrestled its allegiance from you while she was helping you train before you became an Auror."

Okay – that was possible…

"So Malvado's men are looking for the Hallows?"

"Well, one of them - your Invisibility Cloak. Malvado paid a visit to your Minister a few weeks ago, took from him the stone and information on how to break into Dumbledore's Hogwarts tomb," Warren continued, "As you know the wand is not in the grave anymore. Jericho agreed to actively look for the cloak and hand it over to Malvado. In exchange Malvado promised to spare London and Great Britain from his control."

"Leo hired Borgin to hire thieves to find the cloak," Harry said out loud.

"Exactly. Where's the cloak?" Warren asked him.

"What makes you think I have the cloak?"

"Fuck. You're not the Keeper," Warren concluded and began talking to himself, "Who else would she trust? I can't think she'd trust her clueless ex-husband with it."

"Watch it," Harry warned. "Who are the POTH?"

"It's a group she set up years ago to keep an eye on the Hallows. As far as I'm concerned they're a nuisance. They have no real power or real capability to keep the Hallows from falling into the wrong hands, as you can see and more so because they can't even say where the Hallows are to tell us who can. Malvado is going through them because he thinks one of them is the Keeper. Hermione isn’t that stupid."

"How did Malvado find out about them?"

"Word gets around. I didn't know until he had sent out his vultures. I did my part. I warned Grawp and Phil and tried to save Burkes."

"You killed Borgin and framed Burkes for his death?"

The Canadian answered, "Borgin was already dead. I merely moved his body and spread the word that he was likely killed by his partner. Burkes would have never been able to protect himself on his own. He'd still be alive today if your men arrested him as they should have."

"And Phil the Free elf?"

"He was in hiding when he died. Grawp refused help. Then I got busy here."

Warren was backpedalling, flushed from his interrogation and Harry wasn’t convinced he was telling the truth.

"Who else is he after?"

"There was your old professor Flitwick who passed away some time ago. Aside from Hermione there's only one left. The MLE Gumonhisshoe is smart. He'll lie low."

Harry counted them in his mind. Hermione, Burkes, Phil, Grawp, Gumonshisshoe, Flitwick.

"That makes six."

"There are only six."

Really.

"Why them?"

"No fucking clue,” Warren’s impatience was showing; he was looking at the timeteller, “You're gonna have to ask her when she wakes up."

Harry put on the pressure, "Leo said you sold her out."

"No, it wasn't me," Warren flinched, "It was him. He just doesn't realize Malvado has been in and out of his mind. Malvado has spies everywhere. She went to a meeting of magical being leaders and got ambushed by Malvado. He knew Jean Peverell would be at that meeting."

Harry weighed the information. Some of them made sense, some didn't.

"Where were you when she got hurt?"

Warren stared at him and answered evenly, "I was part of the attack party."

That was for sure true. Harry listened carefully as Warren recounted how it happened and how he saved Hermione’s life. It was obvious from the story that the Biomorph was a high ranking Malvado henchman.

"How close are you to Malvado?"

"Close."

“How close?” he repeated emphatically.

“I’m in his inner circle,” he finally admitted.

"Then take him down. Bring him in. If you need help…"

Warren cut him off, firm in his reply, "We've tried that. That's how my team got killed. There's no taking him in. Malvado has to be terminated."

Harry had no jurisdiction to even begin to judge what should and shouldn’t be done. A Dark Wizard targeted by the IMP for outright termination…it seemed quite barbaric not to mention a gross violation of being rights. And Hermione was helping Warren do this? Warren looked at the time again.

"Look, I have to see Jericho, an errand for Malvado. When I get back we should talk strategy about how to get the stone and wand from him. I strongly suggest that you don't move her. She's getting better. Jessie said so. As long as Malvado doesn't know she's alive she'll be safe here. There are wards and I’ve enlisted loyal local beings to protect her. In the meantime, think of where she could have hidden the cloak or who she could have made Keeper. She'll need the cloak when she wakes up."

As Warren was about to leave, Harry needed to clarify a couple of points.

Harry asked him, “How long has she known that Malvado is invincible?”

“A few months,” his answer was a guess.

"I’m just wondering why she didn’t retrieve the cloak, the wand and the stone and challenged Malvado then."

Warren has a ready answer, "Because up until that night she wasn't entirely convinced uniting the Hallows was the solution. She had been Mistress of Death before and does not like the idea of becoming Mistress of Death again."

That sounded like Hermione indeed. It kind of stung that she was Mistress of Death and she didn’t tell him, and quite insulting that Warren knew. It must have been horrible for her not to tell him about it even after the fact and to not want to be mistress a second time.

Harry temporarily cast the hurtful revelation aside and continued, "There’s one other thing. You said she was hit by Malvado's AK at the exact moment you suspended the attack and switched her body with a Biomorph."

"Yes."

"How do you know the wand is still loyal to her?"

Warren replied gravely, "I don't. I can only hope that it still is because the alternative is unthinkable."

XXXXXXXXXX

Halfway across the room Hugo sat beside his Mum holding her hand. He couldn’t understand why Warren did what he did. It was mean and cruel to let her family believe she was dead. And though he probably shouldn’t have eavesdropped Hugo couldn’t understand why Warren chose to lie to his father.

He didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that his father could help and that Warren was not letting him. Warm tears fell on the white sheet, some on his Mum’s hand. He brushed them off and squeezed her fingers praying…

“Mum, wake up. We need you…wake up…”

But his Mum did not stir. He had to do something. He couldn’t just know and not do something. When Warren left, he walked over to his father.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Do note that the last parts did happen before Warren’s meeting with the Minister in the chapter before this.

Hope you liked the HHr here. It was fun to write.

43. Dandelions

A/N. My apologies for the lateness. Work has been crazy busy and Harry gave me the usual trouble I have with him. I re-wrote many times and I finally have a version that I think I can live with. The entire chapter is in the past so I dispensed with the use of italics. It is quite long, longer than my usual. I thought about cutting it in two but that would have been more torture for you :) I couldn’t do that to you!

The reviews have been amazing. Your kind words and suggestions keep me going. My sincerest thanks to everyone.

Here's the 'affair' mostly from Harry’s POV. Needless to say there is requisite sexually explicit content in this chapter (duh). Usual warnings apply.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 43 – Dandelions

It's just after noon and I am knocking on her half-open office door. On the adjacent wall there is a freshly mounted sign.

H. Granger

MOM Adviser for Internal Affairs

"Come in," Hermione answers from somewhere within.

I step in. She is behind her desk pouring over a stack of files.

"Hey."

"Hey."

She looks up and greets warmly then asks me to give her a second and goes back to what she was doing. I end up standing in the middle of the room so I take the opportunity to look around. She has been in London for a few days. I see her shelves are already filled with books, there's a recent picture of her Mum and Rosie at the Winter Palace in St. Petersburg and a Muggle landscape hangs on the other window-free wall.

"You look settled."

"Just about," she replies, up on her feet at last and now giving me her full attention, “What can I do for you?"

"Social visit. Do you have time for lunch?"

She hesitates, points to the mountain of folders on her desk and mumbles that she probably shouldn't with an excuse about stalled projects she wants to work on today. She is thinking about this way too much.

"Let me rephrase that. We're having lunch."

She resigns herself to the fact that it's going to happen. I've been meaning to see her but I didn't want to crowd her so I waited this long. I decide that if I want to reconnect with her then I have to make a better effort.

We navigate through the chaotic Atrium and on my suggestion we walk to Finnigan's. She is quiet, too quiet. The silence bothers me and silence never used to bother me. I glance at her. She seems immersed in her own thoughts.

I can't stand it so I ask, "Everything okay?"

"Yes," she responds quickly and asks me how my day has been.

We’re small talking and neither of us are small talkers. I note how different she is today compared to that night at Finnigan’s. Her hesitation to come and the reticence puzzles me. I make up a few theories on our way. Maybe she’s just busy. Maybe she does have a lot on her plate today.

When we get to Finnigan's we reach for the door at the same time and my hand ends up on hers. The brief unexpected contact brings about another uncomfortable reaction within me. We apologize to each other more than necessary as she steps back and lets me be a gentleman. I open the door for her and I assure myself that it’s nothing, that it will eventually go away.

We take the first empty booth we find. She's having a salad; I get a sandwich. I see her hand on the table and remember how soft it felt in mine just moments ago. What the hell is wrong with me? The silence now bothers me more and I bring up a topic I know we can talk about for ages.

"How is Rosie adjusting?

"She loves it here," Hermione replies, there is relief mixed with anxiety in her eyes as she recounts an incident, "I picked her up from daycare yesterday and she didn't want to go home. Then when we got home she wanted to go to the Burrow. I must be doing something horribly wrong."

I laugh and tell her I know exactly how she feels, that my boys think 'Dad' is that man who takes them from one fun place to the next. In the end we conclude that grandmas and teachers exist to perpetuate our insecurities. She admits that she is constantly second-guessing herself when it comes to making decisions about her daughter.

"I always figured you for the type who would know exactly what to do with your kid," I tease her.

"Really?" she blushes and we share a chuckle, then she answers, "Parenthood has been a humbling experience...just when you think you know everything. The one thing I am sure of is keeping things at home as Muggle as I can."

I understand why. It is just in case Rosie turns out to be non-magical. The experience would also give her a better perspective of both worlds and a better appreciation of what a wonderful thing magic is. I had wanted the same for my sons, at least until both of them showed signs of being able to do magic, but Ginny would have found it hard to live like a Muggle.

"How does Ron feel about that?"

"He said it was an unreasonable expectation," she answers, "I asked him to try and he actually did."

"Did he have a hard time?"

My question entertains her, "Considering his perception of being a Muggle father is limited to playing with Rosie and nothing else? I don't think so. But the good thing about not being with him anymore is that even if I don't think he's trying hard enough, it won't bother me as much."

We talk about James and Al. I am impressed that she already notices how distinct their personalities are.

"James has this inherent mischievous side in him and a brashness that he can get away with anything. He is fearless and he's kind of like Ginny in a way. Al is the more sensitive one, quiet but he's very observant."

"Yeah, I worry about James," I share with her, "He's only two and a bit and he's already a little troublemaker. And Al, he should learn to stand up for himself more."

"Al is 15 months old," she reminds me, she thinks I am expecting too much too early.

"I know. But I don't like how he never complains and lets his brother and his cousins walk all over him all the time."

She is amused and I have to ask, "What's so funny?"

"You do realize Al takes after you."

"No!" I deny, "I don't let people walk all over me."

"I don't think Al does either. He just doesn't care about the little things. He doesn't make a big deal unless he has to."

My face feels warm. It has been a while since anyone has given me an earnest compliment.

I chide her for my awkwardness, "You're evil. You're purposely making me uncomfortable.”

She chortles lightly; I would say that she's pleased at herself for making me feel the way I am feeling now. And I'm pleased that she's pleased. I can't help but think when Ginny and I last had such a conversation and a knot grows in my chest. It was too long ago to remember and they are far too rare. We've been too busy I think.

Her next thought displaces mine, "I never dreamt that having children would reduce us to insecure worrywarts. They're amazing though, aren't they?"

"How do you mean?"

"They bring new meaning into your life. It's not just you to think about anymore and you'd do anything to make your boys happy."

I totally agree.

Some bloke she knows interrupts us. I recognize him as a hotshot Healer from St. Mungo's. He is sweet-talking Hermione and openly asking her to go out with him on a date.

I am pissed. I am pissed that he is interrupting and for the reason that he is. Hermione sees I am miffed and her eyes remind me to calm down. As I hear her turn him down graciously I do but the git is persistent. This is when I snap. I get off my seat and get in his face.

"Take a hint. She said 'no'. Now run along and go save lives," I say firmly.

I meet his glare and he leaves embarrassed.

"That was rude," Hermione comments, eyebrows raised, not angry but baffled by my outburst.

"He was rude," I defend myself, "You and I may be just friends but you're with me. And you're not even officially divorced yet. He obviously only wants to take advantage."

She tries to quiet me down.

"Thanks for defending my honour but I think you're overreacting."

"Don't be so naïve. Blokes would know another long term relationship is the last thing you have on your mind right now. Guess what they're really after," she's about to say something but I cut her off, "And don't even argue with me about this because I know - I'm a bloke."

The Healer was the last straw. I mention two nameless assholes at work who thought to go through me with the same intention of asking her out.

"I'm jinxing the next person who asks me if you're back on the market."

"Harry!" she thinks I'm joking.

"I'm serious," then I realize, "Unless you actually want to start seeing people again."

I would be disappointed if she did. My expectations of her are high, I guess. I know she’s not the type but sometimes I think that as successful and as brilliant as she is in most of the things that she does, she constantly falls for the wrong guy for the wrong reasons. I see what blokes see in her; she is intelligent, great at what she does and is an attractive woman. Honestly, if I weren't married and we weren't friends I would be one of those gits. Eventually Hermione will be seeing other men but there are not many out there who would know how to be with her. She needs someone who won't feel diminished by her accomplishments and who will let her be herself.

She says she doesn’t and I am relieved.

Over the next week we do a couple more lunches and a few work meetings. I am helping her get re-acquainted with the inner workings of the Ministry while she easily slips back into being my sounding board. Things between us are back to normal, except for my occasional 'sensitivity' to her touch and her fragrance. She doesn’t even wear much perfume and it is unnoticeable most of the time. It is only when I get too close unexpectedly that I have a problem. I now accept that this physical response is there and is normal. I may be married but I do have a pulse. It will pass.

It is quite stressful around the office nowadays. Except for a few wizards we've been keeping an eye on, there has been a significant lull in Dark Arts activity and I find that in the absence of real work people make work. The politics lately has been suffocating. It is obvious that the Unspeakables are continually undermining not only the Auror Office's authority but the Minister of Magic's as well. I try not to get involved but sometimes I have to. Hermione reminds me it is a necessary evil, particularly in my case because I would eventually become Head Auror, and though I know she's right I continue to avoid it when I can.

At home things are better. My hidden resentment about Ginny's choice to put her career before the kids is no longer resentment. A recent talk with Hermione set things in perspective for me. Ginny won't be playing professional Quidditch for much longer and it won't be like this all our lives. I conclude that this compromise is part of being married. To that, Hermione disagrees. She thinks it is part of being in love.

I wanted to argue her point then but I was afraid about the conclusions I would draw from it. I reach them anyway. It is hard to admit. Ginny and I have been married for three and a half years, and the way I love her has changed. The constant rush that I felt the days before we married tapered off over time, starting sometime after we went back to work and became busy with our separate lives. It doesn't help that I can't talk to her about my work and that when she talks about hers she feels like what she does is so unimportant compared to what I face every day.

I think Ginny senses the change too, maybe even feels the same way about me. But we never talk about it. And as in the typically course of things we decided to get pregnant, maybe a part of us even hoping that would change things back. We had James and then Al, and while I do appreciate her more because she is the mother of my children, how I feel about her never went back to the way I remembered it to be. I believe that part of it is because it does take more than hay to keep the horse going. Really, aside from the kids, we share very little now and I am at a loss as to how to change that. I still love her, I care about her and what she does, but it's not the same.

I guess I shouldn't have expected the feeling to remain unchanged. Ron's divorce and Terry's bitterness make me wonder if this is how things progress. That at some point in marriage love does wane and things you would willingly give up before for the other become much more difficult compromises.

I wish I had my parents to ask for advice. I obviously can't talk about it Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and there is really no one else to ask for those around me seem to be fumbling around their marriages as well. I figured Hermione and I were both right. Giving in selflessly is a sign of being in love but it is also something that one does because of marriage, to keep one's vow of eternal love, when love is no longer enough.

In a way I am a coward. I avoided that conversation with Hermione because I don't want this truth out in the open. I don't want Ginny to know because I don't want to hurt her. I've been told that there are things couples say and do to each other that are very difficult to forgive and never come back from. Knowing Ginny, admitting to this is one of them. Divorce is not an option. I made the vow; I intend to keep it. I just don't know if I can love her the way I did before. Maybe it's just the way it is. Maybe it doesn't matter. Maybe how I love her now will be enough that she won't ever mention that things have changed. And I don't think I need more than what she is currently giving me. Things aren't bad. I can live with this.

The days go by fast. It is early July, a Saturday afternoon. James, Al and I are heading over to Hermione's house. Ginny was supposed to come but a team practice was called last minute and she couldn't make it. With the Harpies playing so well and her getting back to the physical form and condition she was in before she had James and Al, the team was in the running for the World Cup.

It is a big deal and I am very excited for her and the team. But it means longer practices and extra meetings. It’s wearing Ginny down. She feels guilty that she's spending more time away from home and the kids. I do let her know I understand that it is something she has to do and I think that helps. It’s wearing me down too but I comfort myself with the thought that it will get better.

When we get to One Pine Hill Hermione tells me it's okay if we don't stay long. I think she's thrown off that Ginny cannot be here. I assure her I'm fine, josh that I'm not as helpless with the kids as she thinks, and that James and Al are excited. That makes her relax a bit.

We let the kids play. Energized by the sight of new environment to explore the Potter boys tear through her house like a tornado and prove to her that it is not child-proof enough. Rosie is already picking up some of James antics, kids are like sponges, and is seemingly the one kid who consistently gets a rise out of Al. I love that she does and I allow her while her Mum disapproves.

"It's a teaching opportunity."

"You do realize you are being mean to your son," she scolds me half-heartedly.

"They can both learn from each other," I argue, sensing she can be swayed, "We tell Al to voice out that he wants her to stop and Rosie can learn to listen."

So I don't know much about fifteen month olds but she humours me anyway. A couple of hours later we flop onto her sofa, both of us trying to catch our breaths as James, Rosie and Al walk-run around us over and over again. After half a minute of just watching them she turns to me and then begins to laugh hysterically. She tells me how we both look like we've been through an ordeal.

We are in stitches, laughing at how our kids have managed to accomplish a feat no dark wizard or witch has ever done - tire us both out. Normally I'm fine with Al and James but I swear adding Rosie to the mix has a potentiating effect on them. I would have never thought looking after three toddlers would be so exhausting.

As I look at Hermione my mind goes off on a tangent. It just hit me. She was really doing this. She was raising Rosie on her own. I am so proud that I have to tell her.

"I really admire you."

"Sure you do."

She thinks I'm pulling her leg.

"Seriously. It takes a lot of courage to leave Ron and decide to raise Rosie on your own."

"Divorcing Ron had nothing to do with courage. I just regained my common sense," I hear her say and decide she is only half-joking, "And I'm not really raising Rosie on my own. Ron will be around."

"Still, it takes guts to go against conventional social expectation and stand your ground."

Her eyes show worry and she confesses that the confidence is only skin deep.

"I don't feel courageous. When I look at Rosie I feel mostly guilt."

"About?"

"Giving up on marriage, setting a terrible example. I'm probably about to scar her for life."

"No, you're not," I try to encourage her, "Rosie will be fine. And someday you'll find the right person, fall in love and get married again."

I surprise myself that in spite of my current impressions about marriage I still believe in it. Or maybe I am trying to hang on to my belief to justify my staying in mine.

She holds her hands up and with a chuckle guarantees, "I'm never getting married again."

"Never?"

"Never," she says with conviction.

“Why never?”

"Marriage is a vow of eternal selflessness. It's tough to keep up. I've already broken it once and I know I'll break it again."

"And you're sure you will because...?"

"I just am."

So she has indeed picked up some of Ron's annoying debate tactics.

"Never is such an absolute. You'll get married again. Someone will come along, sweep you off your feet and make you eat your words."

"I wouldn't hold my breath if I were you," she quips and then looks over to where the kids are.

I think what I just said hit a sore nerve and she doesn't want me to know. I realize that she is just so bruised that she can utter such depressing absolutes, but what saddens me the most is that she is broken so badly that she is giving up on finding someone she can spend the rest of her life with. I think going through life without someone like that is tragic. I want her to be happy. Her happiness is important to me.

“So, you’re saying that you’re not getting married again.”

“Never,” she reaffirms.

I summon a crayon and construction paper, and I hand them to her, "Here. Write it down."

She looks at me dumbfounded, "Write it down? What for?"

"No arguments. Just do as you're told. I - will - ne-ver ..."

I bully her good-naturedly and she shushes me and follows, curious about what I would do with it. As soon as she finishes I take the paper from her and put it in my wallet.

"I'm giving this back to you when marry again. Then I'll torment you about being wrong for the rest of our lives."

She is laughing and I can't keep a poker face.

"It'll rot in your pocket. It's never going to happen," she is confident.

"I predict it will."

"Harry, you're not Seer. You can't predict the future," she taunts me in her all-knowing tone.

"Me better than you," I say and I make her pay for what she just said, "At least I didn't drop out of Divination."

We laugh some more and I feel a small hand tugging at my shirt. It is James is asking me why I'm 'happy'. While I'm trying to think how to answer that Rosie calls her Mum. She wants to go to the park.

My boys want to go too. No surprise there. There is one about five minutes from Hermione's house so we go. The sun is up, as bright and as cheery as the entire day has been for me. I follow Al and James to the slides. Seeing the boys having fun is always a treat. They have the childhood I never had.

Hermione's easy laugh carries to where we are and I turn and squint against the glare to watch mother and daughter. She is all smiles while she gives Rosie a hug. Rosie just handed her something yellow.

Dandelions...

They are in the midst of a field of dandelions. How she looks with the flowers in her hand gives me a jolt. I've seen this picture before and it flashes across my mind - I am collecting dandelions off the park across the street from her place on Grimmauld, nervous and excited at the same time as I give them to her. She is blushing a crimson red.

"Are you okay?"

It’s Hermione. She has left the weed infested field is now in front of me with a very concerned expression on her face.

I breathe, not realizing until she spoke that I wasn't breathing. Was it real? Did it really happen?

"I - I'm fine."

"Are you sure?"

She knows I'm not fine. She reaches for my forehead but I feel her hand even before it is on me. It is tender and soothing, with an intimacy that is eerily familiar. It may not be her intention but I sense there is more than friendship in her touch.

Her light flowery scent makes me more aware of how close she is. The more I breathe the faster my heart beats and the more I am being drawn into her. My mind gets away from me and for a split second I forget my place. I lose the battle. My gaze falls upon her slightly open lips, imagining what they taste like, thinking about leaning in to prove that they are as sweet and as soft as I suspect they are.

This attraction to another woman may be okay for a married man but giving in to the temptation, to act on it, can't be. And Hermione is my friend. It is too late to keep this to myself. I know she knows. She sees where my eyes have rested upon. Since she hasn't moved I can only conclude that she feels something too. And somehow, knowing that she does makes what I feel like doing right.

Being human has its downsides. It can take so much effort and willpower to do the right thing and yet less than a blink of an eye to make all that worthless.

Slowly, I lean forward, closing my eyes, taking in the feel of her warm breath as it falls on my lips...this is okay...this is right...

"I'm sorry," she apologizes, abruptly turning away and stepping back before we actually, I actually, oh Merlin.

"Not your fault. Totally mine."

It scares us both and we say to each other almost at the same time.

"We should... "

"You should probably..."

"...go."

"And Harry..."

I look at her anxiously. She is as tense as I am.

"Yes?"

"Nothing happened."

I nod and repeat, "Nothing happened."

I pack the kids up in record time and after we get back home I call Ginny. I ask her Mum to mind the kids and I take her out to dinner. The spontaneity pleases her as I hoped it would. I feel better.

Over the next few days Hermione and I both act as if nothing happened. As she pointed out nothing did happen. I continue to ask her to have lunch with me to prove that everything is fine and I know she says yes to prove the same.

But things are definitely not the same. She talks a lot now and more pressured, like she wants to fill our time together with any topic under the sun besides what did not happen between us at the play park. I am a mess. When I see her I think about those dandelions and when I don’t I am plagued by what-ifs. And there's the smell of her perfume now etched firmly in my memory that comes at idle moments and reminds me of what I almost did and what I'm afraid I still might do.

I am also beginning to recall events of that time years ago when Ginny and I were not together and Hermione just got back from Hag training. I remember spending time with her (as I have been recently) to get to know her better. I remember getting suspended with her and for her, missing her while she was in Perth, then working to get Grimmauld ready when she returned. I remember the look on her face when I showed it to her the first time and I remember helping her fix it up. I remember the short time we were partners and how having her in the car with me became somewhat awkward just like it is now. I thought about crossing the line then. Did I cross the line then?

Most days I am sure I didn’t but the question continues to plague me and it shows. Even Ginny in her busyness notices that something is amiss. It is naturally difficult to look into your wife’s eyes directly when you’re thinking about another woman inappropriately. I've weighed the pros and cons of broaching the matter with Hermione again; she is a friend I want to keep. It is my hope that having this out with her will take care of my weed problem and end the persistent temptation.

But since she hasn't said anything I decide not to. She is going through a lot. I just happened to be the hypocritical git who caught her during a moment of weakness and tried to kiss her. She doesn't need this headache. Why am I giving her this headache? She obviously will never cross that line even if the attraction is mutual and after what didn't happen, neither should I.

I tell myself again. It'll eventually go away. It has to.

The following weekend I am at the Burrow. It is Fred's 5th birthday and most of the Weasleys are here. Even Ginny took the time off to be here.

A bunch of red headed kids whiz by me. It always amazes me how this chaos, that is so different from what I experienced growing up, looks normal to me now. Sometimes I do feel out of place probably because I never imagined being a part of such a big happy family.

Having never had a proper childhood, I remember fantasizing about spending special occasions with my parents as a son. I don't recall ever having a concrete thought about what my own family would look like although on vague occasions I naturally tended to think of myself like my father; parent to one, husband to a wife with a smallish family, living a quiet life. The Weasleys aren't exactly smallish and quiet with them is a hypothetical state of mind.

I suppose that is all moot. I am married to Ginny and hers is a most kind hearted family who took me in and welcomed me when I needed somewhere to belong. I should be thankful. I am thankful. I owe the Weasleys a lot. I'm sure they would be what they are to me even if I didn't marry Ginny.

I look over across the room to where Ginny is. She is with the Weasley wives (and one ex-wife) and is telling them about progress on the construction of our house. Ginny is beautiful, maybe even more beautiful now than she was before. She is a good person and a very attractive woman. We have two great boys. Why am I messing with a good thing?

“We’re thinking of calling it The Pitch,” I overhear her say.

“Wat eez diz room beezide ze main bedroom for?” Fleur, one of Ginny’s brothers’ wives asks, pointing at a sketch that we had brought over so she could show her Mum and Dad.

“Oh that,” Ginny answers with a light laugh, “We’re not sure if we are going to do that yet but Harry thinks it’s a good idea to have another bedroom there, for when he’s working late, so that he doesn’t wake me when he comes home.”

“That is so considerate,” Percy’s wife, Audrey, comments.

“Zweet ‘arry,” Fleur adds.

I feel the weight of someone's gaze upon me and I gravitate to it. It is Hermione looking at me with a frown. She doesn't believe Ginny's version of things and she is right.

I don’t think the second bedroom is a good idea. That would only make us spend less time with each other. I still hope Ginny will decide not to have it built although if I continue with my mental infidelity for much longer I wouldn’t mind having one at our place right now.

“It’s good to have Hermione back at the Ministry,” Percy’s remark about Hermione attracts my attention, "She gets things done. She cuts through the red tape mercilessly, sometimes more than my liking, but she gets things done. I don't know how she does it. The other day, she told Jean Haute in front of the committee that he had delayed the Atrium construction long enough and that if he didn't start the Atrium centrepiece he was commissioned to do within the week, she'll get some other artist to do it or do it herself."

That did sound like something Hermione would do. I excuse myself as I see her leave the sitting room and head for the kitchen. I need to talk to her, not about 'what did not happen' but about something else.

When I get there the kitchen is in a bit of a chaos. Angelina, Fred's Mum, is visibly stressed. Mrs. Weasley has stepped out and left her in charge. The knives, cutting boards, pots and pans disagree.

Hermione offers to help and I do too. We take over, telling Angelina to go and join George who is entertaining the kids with some special Wheezes. I don the apron, rub my hands together and start up the stove while Hermione stops the enchanted knives, picks up one and starts cutting tomatoes the usual Muggle way. It is a spaghetti-with-meatballs birthday party – easy enough. A cake with a Muggle children's TV character is on the kitchen table.

She is busily chopping away and I grab the opportunity to ask her about Grimmauld, if she was considering selling it.

"What made you think that?" she answers my question with a question.

"I was just wondering. You're not living in it and from the sounds of it you don't have any intention to."

I am trying to be discreet. I've heard through the grapevine that she is struggling to keep things afloat financially since she is paying for two houses. And she would be too proud to ask me or any of her friends for money. She asked a goblin to help her pay me off for Grimmauld. She was that proud.

"I’m not really thinking of selling," she answers, "But if you want it back..."

She looks worried.

"Only if you're selling it."

"I'm not," she is firm.

"Okay."

I'd have to think of some other way to help. It’s her turn for questions.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What’s this about a second master bedroom?”

It’s really none of her business but like in Hogwarts she is making it her own. I think she just wants to know she is right. I tell her. She is not impressed.

“You suggested it hoping she would say ‘no’.”

The way she said it made me feel like an idiot.

“Yeah.”

And she didn’t.”

“She’s still thinking about it,” I defend my wife.

“Don't tell me it's some sort of a stupid test you're putting her through that she has no clue about."

"Huh? Of course not."

“I thought not because you’re not capable,” she tells herself, “Then I don’t get why you won't just tell her you don't want it.”

Hermione is shaking her head and I can feel a rant eager to be heard.

“Go ahead.”

“No, it’s none of my business,” she tells me now but only after a long drawn out breath.

I hear vigorous chopping, more vigorous than what the tomatoes require. She needs to let it out and I know I can make her.

“Many couples owe their marriages to a second bedroom.”

She scoffs at the remark.

“How?”

I give her one of the architect’s examples, picking something I know she can relate to.

“Snoring.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you ever wish you could sleep in a different room with Ron snoring away?”

“No.”

“No?”

I'm surprised. I certainly did.

She explains, “Because I knew what to expect. If it bothered me that much then I wouldn’t have married him.”

There is an annoyance in her tone that sort of implies she thinks Ginny should have realized that he worked horrible hours.

“It didn’t bother you when he came home late and woke you up?”

“I actually preferred it when he woke me up. I slept much better after knowing he was safe.”

“My wife isn’t like that,” I defend Ginny again.

“Apparently not."

I say, "And I don't want her waking up everytime I come home or losing sleep thinking I'm on some dangerous mission."

"But regardless of where you slept it would only be natural if she did, wouldn’t it? If she wanted to sleep worry free then she should have married someone with a less dangerous job, like someone in professional Quidditch,” she says pointedly then takes it back, “Sorry, that was totally inappropriate. As I said, it’s none of my business.”

I am taken aback by her displeasure of Ginny’s choices of late. She isn’t usually this vocal about her disapproval and I have never heard her say anything like this about Ginny without Ginny being present. The fact that she cares and is so upset for me fuels the egotistical moron within me to dig deeper. I wonder if like me she is wondering about what ifs and before I can stop myself, I open my big mouth.

"I gave you dandelions once."

She stops cutting for a couple of seconds, then continues.

“You remember.”

It took long for her to answer but at least she didn’t lie.

I continue, quite proud of the details I was able to recall, “It was Valentine’s four years ago. I said I’d be at Finnigan’s that night but I stood you up.”

“Not just me. The rest of the gang too,” she corrects.

“Still,” I don’t let her get me off so easily.

“Fine, that was shitty,” she jokes. “And you apologized with weeds. Classy.”

“You mentioned you were easy when it came to flowers,” I reply to her playful barb, “You liked the tulips, too.”

“The tulips were good.”

“Did I do that often? “

“What?” she stalls.

“Give you flowers.”

“No,” she answers quickly.

“Do you still like getting flowers?”

“Not as much anymore.”

There is a tinge of sadness in her answer. I think I know what happened. I eventually made an advance and she turned me down. She's too kind to make me remember.

Somewhat deflated by the thought I reach across her for the salt shaker only to realize it is much farther than I think it is. My arm brushes against hers and she recoils as if I've hurt her in some way. Next thing I know she is at the sink, running water on her left hand, swearing under her breath. I see blood on the cutting board.

I have paper towel in my hand.

"Let me have a look," I tell her.

"No, it's fine," she stubbornly shuns my offer.

"Let me before you bleed all over the place," I force her and she reluctantly faces me.

I have her hand and I am pressing hard against the gash on her finger. She is still upset. I tell her to stop swearing, reminding her how she is in a house full of kids eager to add colourful words to their vocabulary.

She agrees, laughing at my joke and I momentarily keep her mind off what's upsetting her. I don't even know what's upsetting her. I study her face. She is conflicted about something as she stares at her cut finger. I sense her restlessness, her discomfort.

“It’s fine,” she wants me to let go.

“Keep still for a sec,” I scold her.

“I can take care of it,” she insists.

“Just let me. It’ll make me feel better.”

She finally looks up at me.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

And we stand there looking at each other seemingly forever. I see with exquisite detail her caring brown eyes and her kind face, reflecting what I know is true of her heart. Who she is has never changed, not since we became friends at eleven. She is my one constant, the only one who knows me well enough to know how I feel and what I need without me having to say much, and I am not one who says much.

I missed her more than I thought I did and it is in our time together since her return, when I felt more alive than I have been that I realize my life is not the same without her. Giving her dandelions is not so troubling anymore and I wonder what if we are more than friends. I wonder if we will both be happier than we are now.

“We should stop this, Harry,” she says quietly.

Of course, she knows. And it didn’t escape me that she said ‘we’. A part of me is glad that I am not in this alone but a part of me wishes she didn’t say that. It would have been better if I didn’t know.

“Yeah, we should,” I agree, “Tell me how.”

“I don’t know,” she replies gravely.

Her honestly tears through both of us. The glowing sight of who she is to me fills my heart with an intense longing of that intangible that only she can give. This attraction isn’t all physical. I have no exact word for it. It is beyond my limited vocabulary to describe. It is understanding, loyalty, faith and love all in one. And I feel the same for her. It was once friendship but is no longer just that.

A choking sensation clamps around my throat. The Burrow fades away and we are in a different kitchen. It's in Grimmauld; her blood on the tomatoes...running water on the sink…the feel of her hand in mine…being this close to her. I say something funny; she laughs; I like it that she does. Without hesitation I kiss her. She kisses me back in a manner I've never known could come from her. I am blown away by how spontaneous we are and how further intimacy isn't a hope but an expectation.

Our kiss deepens, her fingers are in my hair and our bodies strain against each other. My mouth leaves hers and I languidly nip at her neck. An encouraging soft moan escapes from within her. Her skin is absolutely soft and I can't get enough of how heavenly she smells, the very same scent that haunts me nowadays.

I lift her up, cupping her bottom as she wraps her legs around my waist and begins undressing me. I am trying to get us somewhere but wherever that is we won’t make it. My heart is banging hard against my chest. I want her as I’ve never wanted anyone else in my life. We are making out, making love on the kitchen floor…Merlin...

"What's going on?"

My wife's voice pulls me back to reality. I look around and the sights and sounds of the Burrow come back to the forefront. Ginny is standing by the counter, looking as puzzled as I was feeling. I don’t have an answer but Hermione does.

"I was stupid. I cut myself and Harry is trying to prevent me from bleeding all over the place."

To my relief we are still standing and I am still holding her finger. As real as it felt we didn't really do what I thought we did - at least not then and not in the Weasley kitchen.

"It looks like it stopped bleeding," Hermione directs my attention to her injury.

"Looks like," I answer, probing her face for any sign that she saw what I saw; there isn't.

Hermione takes her hand from mine and motions over to the countertop right in front of Ginny, “You have enough tomatoes. I'll go check on Rosie."

Hermione leaves us and Ginny helps me finish. I don't mind that she has taken her wand out and takes over.

The incident bothers me and did not let me sleep that night. What troubles me the most is how vivid the scene is. I did not imagine it. I couldn’t have. But it didn't make sense.

The next morning I try to get some work done but I am too distracted to be productive. I take the rest of the afternoon off and even though every fibre in my body wants to rush to find Hermione I don’t. I need to think. I need to breathe. I need to try and recall every little detail of the events before and after Gaunt and each and every bit I remember adds to the growing pit in my stomach.

I am driving and I suddenly think Sutton. When I get there I let the memory of her voice guide me through its streets. I know I will find her sister's grave beside her Dad's even before I get there. It is sunset when I get to the Lookout and I stay and watch the night fall. I feel her with me. We kissed here.

My assumption last night was incorrect. She didn’t turn me away. We were lovers. I still don't know what happened but I am no longer as clueless as I was. Thinking about Hermione and how she was right after awaking from her injuries four years ago it is difficult not to draw the conclusions I have drawn. I hope I'm wrong. Let me be wrong.

I drive back to London purposely slower. There is no going back to the comfortable life of ignorance and innocence after tonight. And even though I have so much to lose and not much to gain by opening up this can of worms I owe it to her to not let this go.

I park in front of her Grimmauld property. It is empty. I know she hasn't been renting it out as she has been telling us all this time. Breaking the wards she put up is easy and I step into the main entrance.

A rush of memories greets me like a punch in the face. Each room in the house isn't just a room but a reminder of her being there with me, of what it was like, of what it could have been, and of what it couldn't be anymore.

It is just as I left it that night four years ago. I am immediately swept back to that time and I remember everything; from that night I realized I wanted her to be more than just a friend to me, to falling in love with her, to declaring my unconditional and undying love for her, to finding out she felt the same way about me and then asking her to marry me.

I reach the top of the stairs and go into our room. I remember that last argument, how she gave me back the ring, and how we worked things out because we needed to be together. This love for her is overwhelming and more complete than anything I have ever felt for anyone else, including Ginny.

I feel tears running down my face. It's not hard to accept that things cannot go back to the way they were. It just hurts. It hurts that she didn't trust me enough and chose not to let me know. She must think I didn't love her, that I lied, that all this was a farce to me.

As I leave and head back for the stairs something out of the usual catches my attention in the unfinished smaller room. I walk into it. The walls are painted a light green, little broomsticks flying halfway around it and in corner beside the window an empty crib.

Seeing this and remembering rips me into pieces. My legs give way and I am on my knees sobbing. She was pregnant. She lost our baby that night and nobody even knew she did. I imagine how she must have felt that time, all this time and I cry harder. How could she not say anything? How could she not tell me? How could she have chosen to go through this alone?

Mindlessly I open a fresh can of green paint, pick up the brush and dip it into the pail, my uneven strokes contrasting against my better ones. I am shaking and I have to constantly blink away the tears from my eyes so I can see better. I want finish what I started years ago.

I don't know how long it took me but finally I'm done. I take my phone out and ring her.

"Hi," she picks up.

She knows it's me. I try to speak but I can't because I'm crying again.

"Harry?" there is worry in her voice now, "Are you okay?"

"No," I manage to say, "I'm- I'm at Grimmauld."

XXXXXXXXXX

It is almost 8 and I am on the phone with Ron. He has a week off and has Rosie for the next few days.

"Now remember..."

"I know. Bedtime is at 7 and read her two books," my soon to be ex-husband interrupts me in his usual annoying way. I let go of the fact that Rosie is still awake and not even in bed yet, "And I won't forget to brush her teeth."

As I hang up I remind myself.

He's her father. You just have to be okay with this.

I'm gonna miss her but it is good timing. I need time to sort out this thing with Harry.

It shouldn't have happened. He wasn't supposed to remember. Death was clueless when I asked It why Harry was regaining his memories. It had the gall to accuse me of seducing Harry back, insinuating that maybe, this is exactly what I want to happen. It was pointless to argue with Death.

But regardless of what he remembers he's a married man. He shouldn't be dicking around with his family's future. That's why I thought it was okay to come back. It had been a long time. He was settled. And I needed to come back, to be near him at least. I lost myself so badly I need him to find my way again. But as friends, not as this, whatever this is.

And the fact that I think Ginny is doing a piss ass job as his wife shouldn't excuse me from discouraging Harry to carry on with another woman. I have to talk to her. She's losing him.

My phone rings. It's Harry. I rush to Grimmauld.

I call out his name as I enter the foyer. He is not answering. If he got this far then he knows more than he knew last night. I have a feeling about where he is and I go with my gut.

I find him in our baby's room. He has his back turned towards me that I can't see his face and he is clutching the rails of the crib, his knuckles white from clenching them. I feel his rage.

The room is changed from the last time I was in it. The fresh coat of paint is obvious. He finished it. He’s been here a long time thinking Merlin on knows what. I approach slowly and stand beside him. His eyes are shut, his jaws set and he is trying not to explode. I focus on the tiny broomstick on the wall in front of us.

"Did we have a boy or a girl?" he asks.

"A girl."

"Broomsticks okay?"

I am thinking books, flowers or butterflies but really, now is not the time.

"Broomsticks are fine."

"Good."

Then he is silent. I think he wants me to start the conversation.

"You have the right to be angry," I say to him calmly.

"Do I?" his tone is harsh, dripping with sarcasm.

"Of course, you do. You think I should have said something."

"And you don't think you should have?"

He won't like my answer to that one so I don't respond.

"Open your eyes, Harry."

I ask him again. Tears are in mine. He is shaking his head.

"Open them and look at me."

"I don't want to," he says.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want you to see how angry I am."

"Please. I want to see," I reply bravely.

He finally does and I am stung by what I discover. Yes, he is angry, but over and above that he is suffering.

Trying to control his emotion, he asks me, "Why do you want to see this? Haven't I hurt you enough or do you want me to feel guiltier that I keep on hurting you?"

"Just let go it."

"I can't be angry at you!"

"It's okay."

"No it's not! If there is anyone who should be angry it should be you!"

"I was but what happened isn't, wasn't your fault, Harry."

"Then why didn't you tell me?"

"I couldn't."

"Why not?!"

He is getting more frustrated. He is raising his voice more.

"It was difficult."

"More difficult than going through all this on your own?! You should have said something!"

"Like what?" I speak up, figuring that I need to say what he expects me to say, "Like, pardon me for interrupting your happy married life but we had a thing going and would you mind it so much if I ask that you love me instead of Ginny?"

He unleashes his temper, not so much on me but upon himself, "No, something like you're an asshole and a lying bastard! What kind of a person are you to not be around for me when I lost our baby and how can you be stupid enough to marry while I was in a fucking coma!?"

"I don't blame you!"

"That's what I'm trying to say! You should!"

"Well I don't and neither should you!" I chastise him, "You didn't want this to happen but it did and there's no point pointing fingers. Just let this go, I have."

"You want me to let go. Just like that."

"Yes."

"How?"

"I'm fine. I really am. You don't have to feel guilty. I'm fine with the way things are."

"You're fine but I'm not fine about not being given a choice when it still mattered."

I have to say it even if it's going to hurt him, "I woke up and you were married to Ginny. Whatever choice I had didn't matter. So don't talk to me about not being given a choice because let's face it. Even if you were given a choice, you wouldn't have left her for me."

He face is red but the truth settles him down somewhat. He catches me offguard with his next remark.

"Do you still love me?"

Reflexively in self defense and for the better good, I answer, "I don't."

My fib angers him again.

"You're lying!"

"I'm not!"

"Stop telling me what you think I want to hear! I want the truth! Do you still love me?!"

"If you won't accept my answer then just don't! Quit badgering me!"

"I want to hear it!"

He's frustrating! Ugh!

I try to reason with him, "Why does it matter to you?! Can you not leave me with my dignity so I can look at you and not know that you know and yet you chose to be with someone else!?"

"Say it!"

I am fed up with this. I give in.

"Fine! I love you! Okay? Happy now? I love you and I'll always love you! You're my forever and my unconditional! And thank you for making me say it one more time than I swore to myself I would!" I yell at him, meeting his glare pound for pound. We are both crying. I have to finish this and not allow it to fester like an open wound, "Can we go on with our lives now? Can you handle this or should I move away again?"

He brings one hand up to my face, brushes my tears off my cheeks then tips my chin up and looks into my eyes. I am forced to look into his and I see what I thought I would never see from him again - his warm affection, or whatever it was that he felt for me years ago that I thought was love. I want to push him away but he is holding me, he knows I want to bolt. And I can't fight him, not when he shows me he does care about me for this stupid part of me will always accept what he has to give, no matter how less it is than what I wish for.

I feel him inching closer. His lips touch mine and he kisses me with a tenderness that takes me far away from sane thoughts. I kiss him back because I need to. And in that moment we lose ourselves for very different reasons.

It doesn't take long before the kiss rekindles past flames. My desire for him, long ago abandoned and forgotten awakes with a vengeance. I am melting in his arms. I can't do this. I can't let him do this.

I push him away with all the determination I can muster.

"We can't...you can't..."

He silences me with more kisses for he knows me too well.

I have to be the voice of reason, "Listen...wait...I love you...I can't let you lose what you have just because you want to make it up to me. I'm fine. I really am."

With plain honesty he replies, "This isn't about that. I..."

His words trail off. He looks at me with hesistation. He wants to tell me something but he thinks it's not a good idea.

"What?" I ask.

Whatever the thought was he buries and replaces it, "Just tell me you don't want this. Tell me to go away and I promise I won't bother you again."

My courage fails me. I am not strong enough. I am hoping he is.

I plead and beg him, “I can't be the other woman. I would hate myself. Don't make me be that woman.”

“I’m sorry.”

He isn't strong enough either. He takes my mouth with his and kisses me thoroughly as he lifts me in his arms and carries me into our room. He draws the window curtains back and opens the French doors wandlessly. Basking in soft moonlight we are swept by the spirits of the place back to a time when we only have each other and have no one else to think about.

Our lips are still locked when he lowers me smoothly onto our bed and covers me with his muscular frame. He is pinning my arms against the cushion on both sides, our fingers intertwined while our bodies find that comfortable grove we know exists. His tongue is seeking entrance and I let it in, greeting it with mine. I miss this. I miss him.

Butterflies are fluttering in my stomach. He lets go of one hand and unbuttons my blouse, delicately tracing my exposed skin with his warm fingers as we deepen our kiss further. He slides the other around my back and unclasps my brassiere, freeing my breasts and cupping and caressing one of them. I am tingling where he touches me. We breathe each other in, savouring the moment we are stealing from the present.

In time we are feverish and in various states of undress. His mouth and tongue are sucking my bosom and I writhe under him, while my fingers are now lost in his hair, pulling him in closer. At the same time, he slips one hand under my skirt and is stroking his way up my thigh.

I spread myself for him. Encouraged, he hooks his fingers beneath my undergarment and pushes a part of covering off so he can fondle me there. I can only moan as he does this and he muffles my response with a searing kiss. I kiss him back hard, sliding his shirt off his shoulders and back but it does not completely come off for his one hand is still busy. The feel of his bare chest on mine arouses me even more. I reach down and free him from his pants, my hands take liberty with his firm buttocks as I am slipping his trousers and boxers off. I want him and he knows.

He stops fingering me and ends our kiss, shaking his shirt off. I am about to protest until he slowly pulls my underwear down, brushing his mouth against my inner thigh as he does and then, at the same languid pace, back. I watch him pleasure me.

We are both completely naked now, physically, emotionally, mentally. This is me in my barest and it is something that only he has been able to strip me down to. There is not a part of me that he has not touched or kissed or both. I am burning, melting from his caress.

My body yields to him without question, arching back so he can have more of me, as much as he wants. I am, after all, all his. My hands and my lips are as keen as his are and I too cannot get enough of him. After a while, a long agonizing while, his mouth finds mine again. Our tongues engage and we can’t stop. I can feel every inch of his flesh that connects to mine, every beat of his heart, every touch and every caress. My world is spinning from this reality.

Betrayed by our physical need for air we break off our kiss. He holds himself above me. With jagged breaths, pounding chests, eyes glazed and smouldering from desire, we look at each other.

He loves me, I feel he does. I sense he wants to say it but he can’t because he said it before and married someone else. He thinks I think he lied then and he can’t say it because he can’t bear the thought of me thinking that he is lying again.

I brush his messy hair lightly off his forehead and I see that he is a man desperate to redeem himself even at the expense of destroying himself even more. It breaks me to see him broken like this. I want to give him an out he can live with.

I say to him, "It's fine. I know and I believe you. You don't have to do this."

He acknowledges with a nod but no amount of reassurance from me will convince him. He can’t forgive himself and I think it hurts him more that I tell him that I feel this way. His face contorts in agony, he is gritting his teeth but the tears come anyway. He needs to do this.

My heart bleeds for him. I reach up around his neck, pull myself closer and kiss him passionately, hoping that he will feel better, knowing that he won’t. He kisses me back with the same ardour. As he lowers himself on me, he takes my thigh and gently draws it up against his hip. I make more room for him and I feel his hardness pressing against my aching loins. In a single motion he slides into me and fills me with all of him.

And we are one. He finds us a slow, steady rhythm and we kiss each other affectionately while we move. I love him. Coming back and being close to him again made wanting him this way inevitable. I will burn in hell for this but I don't care. I've been there and back and this is worth it.

His thrusts are becoming deeper, faster and with more urgency. My fingers dig into his back. I am so close. I brush my lips against his bare shoulder and his chest, nipping at him. I want him deeper, faster, and he obliges. I can see his face, we are both about to peak and the sight of him and of us connected this way tips me over. I explode inside, a sound escapes from within me, and I am clinging onto to him as the wave of pleasure comes. I hear him moan the same time he erupts inside me. His warm, wet, pulsating firmness pushes me into another climax. I cry out his name, he drives himself inside me once more and I come again. God...

We both ride that last pleasurable tide together. He collapses on me. We are flushed and breathless for some time. Soon after, he rolls me over to rest on top of him, his arms wrapped around me holding me snug. There is concern in his eyes. I press my finger against his lips as he is about to say something. He understands. I don't want to talk about it; not yet. I want this to last a little bit longer. We kiss tenderly.

We spend the night in each others' arms. I find the thing I miss the most is rubbing my feet against his. Well, that and the rest.

He has a lot of questions and I answer as best I can, all truths except I can't tell him about Death and where the real Hallows are. I decided last night that if it ever came to this I wouldn't. I prefer to keep him as far from the Hallows as I possibly can.

Later on, he has me in a warm embrace and he thinks I'm asleep. I feel his eyes on me and I hear him whisper.

"I love you."

I wait and when I can't hold it anymore I turn away from him. Warm tears escape from my closed eyes.

His words are meaningless to me. I feel so heartbroken that they are. I want to believe him and I thought I did but in the end reality hits me like a Bludger. He is married to someone else and I am the other woman who is about to destroy his life.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hope that was worth the wait.

The next one should have how this 'affair' ended and a continuation of the present.

44. The Affair

A/N. Writing about the affair was more difficult than I thought - Harry, in his infinite nobleness, made me change how I originally thought it would transpire. He doesn't know or care that I've written and uploaded 43 chapters of the story already. It was both frustrating and um…funny.

H-Hr about the affair (no graphic scenes - sorry :blush: totally Harry's fault) then Hugo then Al.

I am honoured and delighted (embarrassed and anxious) to announce that PK admins/mods over at the Forums have chosen me to be the next interviewee/victim on PK spotlight (see ad below). For neat forum stuff or if you have questions for me click on the links below.

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Portkey (PK) staff twisted our arms asked us for this plug:

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We're also inviting YOU to submit questions here for our next Spotlight interviewee: BB Ruth. Yep, she who wrote this fic you're reading!

This Spotlight project aims to interview more HP shipmates, most of whom would be PK members but may also include guests. All in the spirit of being better friends with our fandom-mates! You or your fav writer, artist, beta, reviewer, vidmaker, forumer or lurker could be our next victim … er, interviewee!

This Spotlight project aims to interview more HP shipmates, most of whom would be PK members but may also include guests. All in the spirit of being better friends with our fandom-mates! You or your fav writer, artist, beta, reviewer, vidmaker, forumer or lurker could be our next victim … er, interviewee!

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Chapter 44 - The Affair

July 2007

I can't sleep. I don't want to sleep because if I do, the next moment of my life will be the day after. I don't want it to be the day after. I want this day to last forever.

I am lying beside her in bed and she is serene in my arms. I think she is finally asleep. I haven't let go of her since we stopped talking. A part of me is afraid that she might disappear, that I am going to lose her again when I do.

She kills me. What she did for me kills me. As I'm holding her now that's all I can think of. I can't go past the thought of how much I've made her suffer. She didn't have to go through all that alone; she could have shared the burden of the truth with me. But she chose to spare me from the hurt.

I can only imagine what it was like for her and I know that the pain I feel for our loss is but a speck of what she went through for me. And I can't blame her for the choice she made. She had no way of knowing things would turn out like this. She didn't know if or when I'd ever remember again. I was happy and she couldn't spoil that. I understand because if I were her I would have made the same choice.

I desperately want to right this wrong but I know what I just did has made things worse. Everybody knows two wrongs don't make a right. It was selfish of me; she didn't want this, but I need to be with her because I have no face to tell her how I really feel about her and I am desperate for her to know.

She says she knows and she believes me but she's only saying that to make me feel better. I know her. I can't see her taking my word for it, not after what I put her through. Even I wouldn't believe me. Worst of all, she thinks I am with her now because of guilt and she hates it that she can't say 'no' to me when common sense tells her she should.

She kills me. The way she loves me kills me. And the fact I can't prove to her that I love her back kills me even more.

I pull her closer to me; her unconscious acceptance of my embrace satisfies a fraction of my need to give her my love. I can only think of one way to make this all better for her. I'd hate myself if I do it and I'd hate myself if I don't. It would be right and so wrong at the same time.

I look at the clock. It is two in the morning. The sound of the second hand as it ticks away precious minutes brings home a sense of urgency. I know. I have to make a choice and soon.

XXXXXXXXXX

I wake up. I am sore all over but in a good way and I am naked under the sheets. I remember where I am and what happened.

He is on the bed beside me, nudging me lightly. I open my eyes and he is sitting, fully clothed, with an apologetic look on his face. He hasn't slept. I sit up, gathering the sheets up to my chest as I do. I note my unnecessary modesty and immediately associate it with forbidden fruit. Okay, so maybe I am losing it a bit.

His quiet voice breaks the silence between us, "I have to go."

Hmm. I didn't expect that to hurt. I bite my lower lip and I stare at the clock behind him because I can't look at his face. The numbers come into focus. It is almost five. I swallow the lump in my throat.

"Okay," I hear myself reply.

"The kids...she has practice and..."

"You don't have to explain."

I interrupt. I don't want to hear it. Really. I know he is a married man with responsibilities and I am...well...just his mistress.

He nods. I feel his eyes on me and I know he won't go away until I look back.

"I want to see you, again," he whispers to me when I do.

He means like this and he is making me cry. I want to see him again, too. I barely hear my reply as I plead with him.

"Don't do this..."

Tears are trickling down his cheeks. He touches my face with his warm, gentle hand, steadying me as he leans in. We kiss. It is long, sweet and sad and tugs at something within my chest. He hugs me right after and I sob in his arms.

Stroking my hair, his lips brush against the top of my head every now and then. While he tries to comfort me all I think about is that this isn't going to last. He has to go and it's making me feel worse.

I want him to stay and to love me, and I don't mean just now but he can't. I will myself to stop crying. I don't want him to pity me or feel guiltier about me.

"You have to go."

Convincing him that I'll be fine is difficult but he leaves eventually. When he does I waste no time. I pick myself up right away and I go home, hoping he'll listen to what I'm asking.

He is struggling. I know he thinks he has a choice but really, he doesn't. A lesser man would have the option of leaving his family but this is how Harry is different. I understand him this way.

I am not delusional. Even if he loves me enough I know he cannot leave his family. It wouldn't be him if he did. But I can't make the decision for him. He has to come to it himself.

XXXXXXXXXX

It is difficult to work with the distraction.

I am stuck in this hour long meeting with Jean Haute and members of his entourage. Others in attendance are Hermione, Kingsley, Humptail and Percy. I can't focus and I don't really care about what it is the sculptor is proposing to create and what security measures he is demanding during and after the construction of his 'masterpiece'.

Hermione is across the table from me, quite engaged in the back and forth exchange of ideas. She hasn't made eye contact with me since the meeting started. We haven't spoken a word to each other since the morning I left Grimmauld. She has been keeping her distance from me, too, and she sends a clear message that she wants no part of me that way.

I am trying to stay away as she asked. It is difficult fighting against myself. I miss her; I miss making love to her. Just sitting a few feet from her makes the burning within me burn even more.

What has kept me away for the past two days is the memory of her pleading. She doesn't want to be the other woman and I am sickened by the fact that I've made her just that. I stay away because I love her so much I don't want to hurt her any more than I already have.

Thank goodness Ginny is distracted by the Harpies run for the World Cup. She hasn't noticed anything amiiss although I thought she did look at me funny that morning I came home from Grimmauld. She asked me where I was all night and I told her the truth - that I was with Hermione.

“You've been spending a lot of time with her lately. Is she okay?” she questioned innocently.

“She's not,” I replied without eye contact, daring my entire life to implode at that very moment.

I waited for her to ask me more questions. I was hoping she would but she left it at that, mentioning something about seeing Hermione too. She is not usually dense and for a moment I considered that she suspected but that didn't make sense. The Ginny I know would have confronted it head on. Ginny is the most direct person I know. It is one of the things I like about her.

I recall that she was very direct that night I turned her down at the Burrow. It was just before the Gaunt incident four years ago when the Harpies were in London for a game. I told her I was seeing someone seriously, serious enough to ask to marry.

Ginny didn't take the news all too well and what happened after in her room between us wasn't a moment she would be proud of, at least not according to my recollection. I found out the following morning that that same night her teammate, Druhilda, took her memory of my rejection away, because that's what 'friends' are for, and I was told by same 'friend' that if I cared about Ginny I should keep my mouth shut about her missing memory.

I did. It was actually a good thing that she didn't remember. She played really well against London the next day and things weren't awkward between us. I preferred it then. But on hindsight, if she had that memory we wouldn't be married right now and Hermione and I would be together.

I've wondered if Druhilda (who, by the way, is no longer a 'friend' and has since retired from professional Quidditch) told her eventually but I quickly dismissed the thought, too. If that was the case Ginny would have easily deduced who it was I was seeing. Hermione's behaviour alone would have clued her in. Again, she would have said something.

I can't help but ponder over how I think about Ginny now. Days ago she was my wife, the mother of my children, the person I love and would spend the rest of my life with. Now, she is still all that to me except she is not the one I want to spend my life with anymore.

It is scary how my entire world has turned upside down because of that one detail. With my recovered memories of Hermione I am hounded by what-ifs of the past and what-ifs of the future. Being with Ginny for years should count for much more compared to the mere months I was with Hermione but it doesn't. I think it's because I've known Hermione longer, we've been through a lot and Hermione knows me best. And, most importantly, I know I love Hermione more.

I don't know what to do. I think it, I dream it, I want to do it. It is the last thought I have before I go to bed at night and the first when I wake up. I want to leave Ginny but it's complicated. It'll be unfair to James and Al, and also Ginny. There is no just way to leave your family for someone else; there is no just way to leave your family - period. And every day I am no closer to an answer as to what to do.

Or maybe I have my answer but I'm having difficulty accepting it.

The thing is, I chose to be with Hermione that night when I remembered and I would choose to be with her every night if she would let me. I choose her but she won't let me because I'm married and no matter how much I think it possible I can't abandon my family.

I look over to where she is. The dark lines under her eyes are noticeable. She looks tired and pale and knowing that she hasn't been sleeping well makes me want to hold her even more. I doubt that she has confided with anyone about what we are going through. We don't have anyone else but each other. We need each other to get through this but I don't know if depending on each other right now is a good idea.

I miss her. I miss talking with her, touching her, kissing her, breathing her. Damn it. Thinking about her like this is so not helping. Hermione and I need a clean break. I need to talk to her to help me figure out how best to let her go.

Her mouth is moving; she is angry about something but I haven't been paying attention to the proceedings to know what it is about. She just called Haute a delusional, pompous fraud. Barbs fly across the table and Kingsley adjourns the pointless meeting. She leaves before I can say her name.

I can't stand this. It can't end like this. I call her phone and she answers after a long while. I tell her I have to see her.

XXXXXXXXXX

He stays away but only for a couple of days. He called me to talk, to end this insanity we are putting ourselves through and go back to the way things were. Instead, we end up going on with the way things are. We are back at Grimmauld in our room on our bed. Making love with him is bittersweet. It is wonderful but the aftermath is the same. He is a torn and I can't bear seeing him this way. At some point he will break, I am sure of it.

We don't talk about Ginny, not about James, not about Al or Rosie and not about how wrong this is. If we can't talk then we are no longer who we are to each other. I consider that he needs time to let me go; it took me years to let go of him. The decision isn't difficult. I cannot imagine him choosing this over his family.

I realize that part of the reason it is taking him so long is that he doesn't want to hurt me when he chooses them over me. And even I don't want him to decide. I don't want him to feel bad about letting go of us.

But the longer we are silent about it, the more things will stay the way they are. It scares me that they will. I can see myself being fine with this, with being the other woman. I never imagined I ever would for any man but for him, now, I do. It is so idiotic and irrational that is so beyond my comprehension. How can I when I know that it shouldn't be? It is obvious that this is destroying us from the inside out and we have to end it before it changes us into people we hate.

“I don't expect you to leave Ginny,” I tell him as he was leaving, “I don't want you to leave her.”

That wasn't entirely true. The selfish bitch in me does want him to, but if he leaves Ginny then he is no longer the Harry I am in love with and if he does it because he cares about me I'd rather that he didn't care about me at all. My love for him is pure. If he changes because of me I would hate myself.

He merely nods in reply.

A few days later Rosie is back with me and I have an excuse not to see him. For all my righteous mental rallies to help me tell him to fuck off I hide behind my daughter's presence. That worked for a while until he started coming to our house.

It isn't about sex. He comes straight from work and slips into bed with me. We cuddle and talk until we fall asleep, just like a married couple. Sometimes we do make out, with my daughter asleep next door, but since that second time at Grimmauld we always stop short of consumating the desire that eats us both up. He wants to satisfy me through other creative ways but after doing that once, I found out that he is firm against letting me do the same for him. I have since declined his generous offer. I think it makes us both feel a bit better as human beings that we don't indulge in that part of our strange arrangement.

I admit that it is very frustrating. To want someone who wants you and not have that kind of intimacy is torture but I tell myself that it's better this way. He doesn't feel as guilty about being with me and he is not as torn. I can be with Ginny, James and Al without feeling too guilty. I can even convince myself sometimes that we are not having an 'affair'. I think he sometimes thinks the same.

I have to laugh. This is what I get for choosing to have an affair with a `noble' man. It's a rubbish deal not to have that perk of being his mistress but it is not why I love him and not why I let him come and spend the night with me.

However I can't imagine this being this way forever. He can't expect me to survive like this. I don't expect him to abstain. He knows I know he and Ginny may not have been intimate in recent past but that will change. The thought of that eventuality is quite deflating and it gets worse after I move from wondering to assuming that he has had sex with his wife. I feel horrible but I accept it. He is not my husband; he is Ginny's.

In a matter of days this has become a part of my life. He comes and goes as he pleases, as his schedule permits. In fairness he always calls before he comes and asks if he can. He is giving me the option to end it but I always say 'yes'. And even if I can say 'no' I won't make his decision for him.

The anticipation of whether or not he will call to ask is taking a toll on me. So this is how it feels to be with someone who belongs to someone else. I wonder how it will end. Will he just stop calling? Will he just stop asking? Will we just stop doing it?

As unpredictable his calls are when he does drop by to spend the night it is like clockwork. We fall asleep in each others' arms then at five o'clock he wakes me up and leaves. Soonafter I cry.

Crying is a relief. I dread the day when I no longer feel bad about the fact that he has to go. That would mean I'm okay with being who I am to him. I'm not okay with being okay. I am a bad role model for my daughter already. I am just trying to hang on because he needs time.

I do wish he'd realize sooner that he doesn't have a choice. I wish he'd see what he's doing to me and that he'd love me enough to let me go.

XXXXXXXXXX

I enter our flat and find Ginny in the kitchen. She looks up from her almost empty fruit bowl and greets me with a wide smile.

"Good morning," she says, comes closer and tip toes to give me a peck on my mouth.

"Hi," I reply.

"Your shirt is wet," she notices what I don't.

"It's water. Long story."

I quickly dry my self off as she tells me what I have to know for the day.

"Al and James are seeing Healer Moss at 4. I'll try to be there but just in case I'm late and he asks why you're there tell him they're due for their shots."

"Okay."

"Oh, and don't forget to ask Humptail for the night off tomorrow," she reminded me.

"No party," I remind her back.

"Quiet dinner with family, I promise," she assures me, crossing her heart but I know the meaning of the impish smile on her face, "See you later."

She gives me another chaste kiss and leaves for practice, mentioning something about a pre-birthday present. I'm thinking about how happy she is, oblivious to what's going on, and contrasting that to seeing Hermione crying earlier.

I left Hermione in bed this morning but doubled back when I realized I didn't have my wand. I found her in the shower, sobbing. I shut off the water and held her until she had no more tears to shed. Once again I had asked too much of her. In my efforts to not hurt her further I've hurt her even more.

After changing clothes I peek in and enter our boys' room. They are still asleep. Watching them so calm and serene makes me feel the same and it is with this clarity that I come to decide.

I have to be honest about it. This is my reality, our reality. Hermione and I are no longer alone. We have those who depend on us and rely on us for moments of their lives and our lives aren't just ours anymore.

Forsaking all others for this, for love, as romantic a notion that is, is a cop out. It is the easy way out and knowing Hermione she will not find happiness with me if I do this. It will be wrong; we will hurt people we care about and we will both be miserable. And what will that say of us and of our love?

There is no fair way to leave my family and there is no fair way to let Hermione go. While I have no doubt that she would not deny me if I selfishly asked for us to carry on with this, staying with her will hurt her more. I can't stay with her. Not like this.

In my heart I know she will understand it the same way I do. This is what she wants me to do. She doesn't have to say it. Her eyes this morning were asking me to let her go.

My only hope is that she understands that I chose this not because I don't love her or I love her less. It's because I love her more.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rosie just fell asleep. It is a warm night and I am in the sitting room trying to read a book. It is the eve of his birthday. There's a surprise party being thrown for him tomorrow and I am thinking of excuses not be there.

He found me crying this morning. It got worse when he stepped into the shower with me and held me throughout my emotional breakdown. He apologized and I think he now fully understands what I'm going through. The end should come soon.

I hear a knock on the door. It is Harry and it is time. He comes in already heartbroken. He tries to tell me what needs to be said but he can't say the words. Coming to this decision wasn't easy and putting it in words even harder.

I speak for us and tell him I understand. We are in tears. He is kissing me and I am kissing him back. It hurts, much more than I remember it hurting the last time. I pull away and as I gaze into his green eyes, I can't hide what I want.

Without a word he takes my hand in his and I walk with him to my bedroom. We make love for the very last time.

I wake up the next morning on my own. It is a little after five and he is gone. In his stead I find a golden locket on his pillow, within it is a picture of me and Rosie.

I cry for him. Acceptance is the hardest part and he has finally accepted that this is for the best.

As I close the locket I feel markings on the back and turn it over. Two delicately inscribed words are on it.

Unconditional

Forever

Rivers of tears gush down my face. Save for that one time when he thought I was asleep I never heard him say what he desperately wanted to say. Even as we made love last night he couldn't because he didn't think I would believe him.

But I now know more than ever that he does love me deeply. If he didn't, he wouldn't have let me go.

XXXXXXXXX

Present Time - Somewhere in Southeast Asia

Hugo looked up at his father and told him what he believed, "He's lying."

"You were eavesdropping?"

"Spare me the lesson," he couldn't help the biting remark, "Did you hear what I said? He's lying."

“What about?"

"Malvado doesn't have the Hallows.”

"Because your Mum had them all at one time to be Mistress of Death," the Auror realized.

“That night after Gaunt died at Godric's Hollow, Mum hid the real Hallows in her bag just before she lost consciousness. The wand in Professor Dumbledore's tomb and the stone at the Ministry were fakes. Unfortunately she just couldn't replicate the cloak easily," Hugo explained.

"How would he know that your Mum never returned them?"

"Seriously, we're talking about Mum here. Don't tell me Uncle Warren knows my Mum better than you do."

That remark effectively made his father's face redden. It was too easy and satisfying flustering his old man but Hugo figured, guilt-filled or not, his father had enough and he had to temper his need to make the old man suffer.

"Where are the Hallows?" the Auror asked.

"I don't know but the POTH would. She put the group together to keep an eye on the Peverell heirlooms. And as far as I know there were seven members, not six like Uncle Warren said."

"Why would he lie?"

"That's what I'm wondering too but I don't like the fact that he is. We have to get Mum out of here," Hugo stopped short of saying he didn't trust the wizard anymore.

To his relief his father was in agreement.

"The wards I can break," the older man said, "I don't want to hurt the local beings unless necessary. Is there someone I can talk with, one they will follow?"

Hugo nodded, understanding his concern and admiring him for it.

"Don't worry about them. I'll handle that part," he assured him with confidence, “Is there a safe place we can move her to? Anywhere but your house.”

"I have a couple in mind but we'll have to ask your Aunt Jessie if she has concerns about moving her to either. Malvado is hunting down the remaining POTH. We have to find them before Malvado does," Hugo heard the obvious, "If you have any other information that your Mum told you about the POTH, now's the time..."

"Mum never told me any of this. Being Mistress of Death was a part of her life she wasn't very proud of, a part she didn't want me to know about. She doesn't know that I know about it."

"Who told you? Warren?"

Hugo shook his head, "Let's get my Mum out and I'll help you find out more about the POTH.”

His father paused with that look that he wasn't going to let him.

“I'd rather you stayed with your Mum,” at least he was honest, “It'll be good for her to see you when she wakes up.”

There was only trying not to roll his eyes in response to the obvious psychological attempt to get him to do what his father wanted. He should just say that he doesn't want him to be in danger. Hugo played the game.

“Mum sent me to you because she knows I'll be safe with you. If she wakes up then we can both come back right away. You'd want to talk to her as soon as she does, wouldn't you?”

XXXXXXXXXX

"Are we there yet?" Al asked Rosie anxiously.

It was high noon local time and the harsh sun was making him sweat. They were walking to and from then around this smelly, dirty, fresh produce market that stunk of fish and Merlin only knew what odours.

"Obviously not," his cousin replied angrily, "If you ask me that question one more time..."

"If you tell me where we're going maybe I won't."

Locals were staring. Earlier, a couple had stopped them and asked if they needed help.

"If I knew exactly where we're going don't you think we'd be there already?"

"You mean we've been walking for hours..."

"One."

"My feet are killing me..."

"You're such a whiner."

"And you don't know where Hugo is?!"

"I don't but I know someone who might."

"Might?! We've crossed an entire continent on a might?!"

"I didn't ask you to be here, remember?"

"It's just like you to think you know it all and not have a clue..."

"Ssssh!"

"And that's exactly why I had to come."

"We're here!!""

"Where?"

Rosie pointed to the row of restaurants in front of them. There were lots of Muggles coming and going from most of them except for one with a barely noticeable sign hanging above its wooden door, 'Graciela's'. Al saw a man and a woman enter, but others walked past it without it even earning a glance.

"I knew it was near the market. Only magicals can see it," his cousin explained, "Mum took me here a few times during my last visit. The owner is a vampire."

"A what?!"

"Don't worry. She's a friend of Mum's. If Hugo came back here she would know where to find him."

"A vampire who runs a restaurant. Anything else I should know before we go in there?"

Al didn't trust Vampires very much. From what he knew of them they were volatile beings who had no loyalties except to themselves and their own kind and there were a considerable number of their kind who weren't nice.

They went in and took the table closest to the door, his hand on his wand just in case. Rosie was tense too as she craned her neck towards the server, disappointed that it was someone she didn't recognize.

She spoke to them in the local language which neither of them understood.

"Is Grace here?" Rosie asked the waitress.

"No Grace here," replied their server in halted English, "Do you like food?"

There was considerable attention being thrown at them now. It was understandable. They were non-locals and young to be there by themselves. But Al was particularly worried about the two shady characters in black robes seated across the room. One of them was on the phone and spoke without taking his eyes off of him.

"Your Mum was a brave witch," someone said to him, "You should be proud."

Before he could reply, the man left and another wizard said almost the same thing, adding with concern, "You are very brave too to come but you shouldn't be here, boy."

Rosie addressed his confusion, "They think you're Hugo."

"Hugo?" their server seemed panicked when she heard the name and erroneously concluded that he was Hugo too.

She disappeared quicker than she appeared.

"Is everyone leaving the room or am I imagining things?" Rosie whispered.

True enough in a few seconds they were alone in the restaurant except for the two men. The wizards, he presumed they were, had not said anything to them but had left their seats and were approaching.

"We should go," he told Rosie.

"Yeah let's."

They made a move for the exit but found the exit blocked by pale faced beings.

"Al, I'm so sor-"

"Get behind me," he said to her, his wand already drawn out as they backed away from the entrance.

The wizards and vampires were laughing derisively, mocking them in a language he didn't entirely understand. They were saying something about how he was foolish to come back when his Mum (Aunt Hermione) was dead and how everyone else would be afraid to protect him.

His heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe. Neither he nor Rosie could Disapparate yet. They'd have to fight their way out or run.

Rosie had her wand drawn out too. His thoughts ran rapidly through the offensive and defensive spells he knew; Expelliarmus, Protego, and other spells of no use if your opponents had no wands.

There was a low growl behind them and Rosie squealed. It was a werewolf, a salivating hungry looking one.

"Easy Bingo," cautioned one, "Malvado wants him alive."

They backed away until they felt a wall behind them. They were cornered. Calculating their chances was disheartening but he tried not to mirror the fear in Rosie's eyes.

"Don't be scared," said one of them in English, "Malvado just wants to talk with you. Tell you he's sorry for - um - killing your Mummy."

His companions laughed again.

Rosie's fist tightened. Al read her mind but really, if Malvado killed Aunt Hermione, he didn't need much imagination what the murderer would do with them. The one thing working for them was that the goons were only interested in him and not Rosie.

He told Rosie, "Listen. Forget what you're thinking. I'm going to get you out of here."

"There's nothing that we can do!"

"Rosie, calm down!"

"Calm down?! I'm about to be responsible for our deaths and you want me to calm down!?"

"We're not going to die," Al swallowed the lump in his throat, "I'm going to go with them."

"You idiot!"

Rosie smacked him on the back of his head and got him before he could duck.

"Aw! Don't do that!"

The humiliating laughter stung more than the spot Rosie hit.

"Have you gone spare?! That is the stupidest idea I've heard of in my entire life!"

"They don't want you, they want me!" Al glared at her, hoping she wouldn't correct their error but Rosie had other plans.

"And how long do you think before they figure out you're not Hugo?!"

"He's not Hugo?" the English speaking one caught on.

"I am Hugo!" Al tried to lie convincingly.

Rosie made a scoffing sound, "He's lying. If he were Hugo, do you think we'll still be talking and you'll still be standing unharmed? Hugo would have kicked your butts already."

"Rosie!"

That was kind of insulting. Al was older. He should know more than Hugo.

"This is his cousin. I'm sure Malfucko will be happy to waste his time on some inconsequential cousin," she said to the one who understood English and now looked worried, relaying his concern to his colleagues

"Stop that!" a vampire commanded Rosie. She had opened her rucksack and was rummaging through it, "What are you doing, little girl?"

"I have proof in here somewhere," Rosie began shoving stuff against his chest as she dug deep into her bag and mumbled aloud, "Where's that fucking picture..."

What picture was she talking about?

Rosie was emptying her pack so fast stuff started falling on the floor. He picked them up and only then did he begin to recognize the items in his hands; an Invisibility cloak and some Weasley Wheezes Peruvian darkness inspired firecrackers. Rosie's plan dawned on him the second she gave him the signal.

She set off the first one right on the floor in front of them and sent the entire room into darkness. There was shouting and swearing. They deployed a few more over where their enemies were to distract them just as Rosie grabbed the cloak from him, threw it over their heads and blasted a hole through the back wall behind.

Al felt Rosie dragging him out into the warm sun. Light filtered through the opening the second they went through it and they stood quietly up against the now imperfect wall, holding their breaths while their would-be-kidnappers went through the hole too and dispersed in all directions, the werewolf transforming into human form before doing so.

As soon as their foes were out of sight they went back in. He took off the cloak and turned to Rosie.

"You stole my Dad's cloak!"

"Borrowed. He won't even miss it. He's got lots,” he gave her a look of disapproval to which she replied, “Well, I'm sorry I didn't have time to drop by the local magical store to get one of my own.”

"That's his collection. I can't believe you went through my Dad's personal stuff! That is just so wrong!"

"Compared to sneaking out of your house and coming over here? Geez, Al, chill. I think the cloak is the least of our worries."

She was right. His Dad was going to be very disappointed and his Mum was going to kill him.

Guilt ate him up, "We should probably send a note that we're fine."

Rosie had a worried look too, "This place isn't safe for you. You should go home."

After that close call he wanted to but he couldn't leave Rosie by herself and he let her know, "Only if you go home with me."

"I have to find Hugo," she replied apologetically.

He understood. If he was his brother he would want to look for him too. Wait - Hugo was his brother.

"I'll help you find him," he said with renewed determination and a more positive tone, "That was brilliant, by the way."

His cousin was not as impressed.

"Yes, but they are coming back and there will be no surprising them the next time."

"What now?"

"I don't know. We could hang around outside, wait for Grace..."

"She could be dead, or no longer your Mum's friend," he suggested sensitively. "What about Hugo's friend?"

"Probably back in school at the IMAN."

"Shouldn't you two be in school too?" a man's voice interrupted them, "Seriously, can't your parents keep you under control?"

"Warren!"

Al turned and a tall man dressed in priest clothes welcomed Rosie into his arms. Al knew him to be someone his Aunt Hermione brought to Potter parties in the past. He was a priest?

Beside him was their out of breath and very anxious waitress and a pale beautiful local woman who Rosie seemed relieved to see.

"Albus, right?" Warren asked him.

He nodded. His cousin seemed to trust the older man without question but there was something about how the wizard looked at him that was unsettling.

"You shouldn't have come," Warren said to Rosie although it seemed directed more at him.

"We know. But Hugo left and we want to help him find Mum's killers," Rosie replied, "Is he here?"

"He came with your Uncle Harry a few hours ago," Warren answered Rosie's query then asked Al pointedly as if questioning his intentions, "And you want to help too?"

"Yes, I want to help."

"You Mum's going to have a hissy fit."

The disrespectful tone was evident and the words gushed naturally to push back, "That's none of your business!"

The asshole chuckled in response, "Fine but don't say I didn't warn you about your Mum."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Okay…did the affair make sense? I wanted so much for Harry to choose Hermione without qualms about leaving his family but Harry wouldn't let me. I hope he is forgiven for the difficult choice he had to make.

Rosie makes me smile :)

In the next one we should see more of Hugo and Harry - that will be fun to write.

And also - thanks so much to the reader who nominated TK for the `Best Angst Fic Award' over at another fanfic site. I was pleasantly surprised when I got word this week. That was totally unexpected and warmed the cockles of my heart.

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45. Why Good People Lie

A/N. Computer crashed last weekend – don’t you just hate it when that happens?

Finally committing to what Ginny knew and when.

XXXXXXXXX

Chapter 45 – Why Good People Lie

I am shaking as I get home. My chest feels heavy and solid, like there are stones inside it. It was easier last night, I had more conviction to follow through. But waking up this morning beside her realizing it would be the last time I would be holding her like that...I had to get out before my wavering resolve betrayed me and kept me from doing what I know in my heart is the decent thing to do.

In some ways it is just like making a decision to die only worse. At least with death you can't renege on your choice. There is a very thin line between preserving my sanity and sticking to my decision. It is so tempting to flip and do the selfish thing.

I think of the boys and I can't imagine choosing my happiness over theirs even if I can only influence a small part of their lives and even though I know what I do for them now may only be temporary. I think about Ginny, too, and how undeserving she is of what I am about to put her through.

Hermione asked me as we were drifting off to sleep last night if I would tell Ginny. I didn't know then if I would. It seemed pointless with it being over. I hear Ginny in the kitchen. As usual Hermione knew then what I realize just now. I cannot look at my wife and hide this for the rest of our lives.

Ginny is putting away dishes. They are banging against each other and the clanging echoes louder because she doesn't look up to say hello. And while I don't know my wife entirely I know her enough. She is seething inside. She knows.

I am relieved. Yes, I care that she's hurt but I was going to tell her anyway. I just didn't expect that to be now. I am not prepared for what is to come but I can't think how one can ever prepare for something like this anyway. Hermione's voice echoes in my head - 'The right answer is no.'

I stand beside her and help her with what she's doing. We say nothing for some time. I don't know how to begin.

"I'm sorry."

It is lame but they are the only truthful words that I can think of that will not hurt her more. She doesn't think of it that way.

"About what? About having an affair or about getting caught?"

Her voice is ice cold. She hasn't turned to face me. I don't bite at the obvious attempt to goad me into an argument.

"I'm sorry you're hurt."

"And you think that makes it all right!?"

"Let's talk about this."

"We are talking about this!"

"Calmly..."

She finally faces me and I receive the brunt of her pent up rage.

"Excuse me for not being calm! I trusted you! I trusted her! Here I was thinking you were helping her cope when in fact you were screwing each other behind my back! How long has this been going on?! How long have you two been laughing at me for being such an idiot?!!"

"Sit down..."

"I will not sit down! I will not sit down and take this! I didn't sign up for this!"

"Just sit down!"

At this point I am yelling harder and glaring more. And she does as I ask because I think I've scared her. I've never yelled at her like this, ever. I feel such an ass, a bigger one than I was before I came home. I sit down in front of her at the small round breakfast table. She is trembling from anger. She has all the right to be angry.

I consider telling her everything, the past, the why, the how, but that would mean admitting to her that I love Hermione more. It is tempting to test her love but really, I want to try to make things work out between us. There is no point unless I want her to hurt even more and leave me. Once again I think of Al and James.

"It happened about a month ago but it's over and we won't let it happen again," I say to her earnestly. "I want us to start anew. I want us to make this work. I know I am asking for a lot, but I'm hoping you'll give me another chance and forgive me for what I did."

Then she asked the question.

"Do you love her?"

"Don't do this."

"Just answer the question."

"We're talking about Hermione."

Ginny flinches as I mention her name. She asks again.

"Do you love her?"

Once again I remember what Hermione said last night, "When you tell her, she'll ask if you love me. The right answer is 'no'."

I respond to her question, "Yes, I do."

Ginny didn't expect that and it showed on her face. And for the first time in my life I have a better appreciation of why good people lie.

She then looks at me straight in the eye and says to me, "Then I don't know if I can forgive you."

"If you can't then you can't."

I resign myself to the possibility. What’s done is done and I cannot go back and change what I did.

"I hope she was worth it," she says, heavy on sarcasm, "I didn't figure her for a traitor."

"It's not her fault," I defend Hermione.

But Ginny presses on, "She reminded you, didn't she? I should have known she would try to get you back."

I lose myself as it dawns on me that she knows about the past. We are yelling at each other again.

"You knew! Why didn't you say anything?!"

"I did! I asked you and we asked everybody, including her! She never spoke up! She wasn't interested in getting you back then! She had given you up but she couldn’t stick to her decision! She couldn't get her marriage to work so she chose to muck things up for us too...!"

Her continuous attack on Hermione wakes something dark within me, "Don't talk about her that way!"

"I will talk about the backstabbing bitch anyway I want!"

"She didn't want this!”

"The hell she didn't! Why else would she do it? Since when has she let things just happen to her?! This was her choice! It was her choice to be the victim in this and she deserved whatever she got!"

And the next thing I know the room is unrecognizable and she is unconscious on the kitchen floor. I rush her to St. Mungo's.

XXXXXXXXXX

I drop off Rosie at daycare and drag myself to work. This should be easy. It's not that I haven't lost him before.

I keep myself busy throughout the day. It is his birthday; I haven't greeted him. I scribble a note and grab the present from my desk's bottom drawer. It is an Invisibility Cloak I bought from a St.Petersburg rare magical antiquities shop during my most recent visit.

He started collecting unusual cloaks years ago. I got him a Mayan one last year and an Inuit one the year before and I've joked with him that it's all he's getting from me every time his birthday comes around. Part of it is me feeling guilty about 'borrowing' his but the other part of it is that eventually I plan on returning it. I do intend to give it back to him and when I give it back hopefully it wouldn't look too suspicious that I found it.

I walk it over to his desk and leave it. Odd that he still hasn't come in.

"If you're looking for Harry I heard he's at St. Mungo's," said a concerned Barry Greengrass.

"What happened?"

"Not sure. He had to bring Ginny in."

I get to St. Mungo's and find Death loitering in the emergency treatment area. There are Weasleys all over the place. Al and James are with their grandmother.

Ginny is on the gurney in one of the rooms. Harry is right beside her as pale as a ghost. The Healers are milling around them like busy bees. I lose myself under the cloak and speak to Death in private.

"What happened?"

"I don't know exactly," Death shrugs and answers in Its lazy apathetic way, "I was here to pick up a soul, at first thinking it would finally be poor Phil's wife. Then I was drawn down here. Looks like the baby will beat her to it. Husband said they were having a row then his wife suddenly passed out. He saw blood and took her here immediately."

The Healers are telling Harry that there is bleeding inside and that unless it stopped soon they would have to take the baby out or he would lose them both. He didn’t even know she was pregnant.

"If you so wish, I could take the mother instead," Death suggests to me.

I can't wait to be rid of It totally but it seems there was this reason to hang on to the wand for a little bit longer. My mind is racing as fast as my heart is. Losing another child would be devastating for Harry and losing Ginny under the circumstances would alter him for life.

I leave and go up two storeys to where Millie, the wife of a free elf who was cursed by her former master, has been hopelessly bed bound and vegetative for the last ten years. Phil, her husband had spoken to me a few times and asked me to tell Death to take her so that she would pass and not suffer anymore. I find Phil at her bedside and tell him it's time to say goodbye. He is grateful and while he does I slip back under Harry's cloak to find Death. I have no qualms telling It to take Millie's last breath. It's been a while but playing God is easy once you've crossed the line before. It shouldn't be this easy to take someone's life and is the reason I must give it up.

Death welcomes her soul. Millie is happy she is finally gone and Phil can go on with his life. She asks me to tell him she didn't suffer. I tell her I will. Death mumbles something about not taking my opportunity to be happy with Harry. I ignore It and go back to where Harry and Ginny are. She wakes up. The Healers are ecstatic that their intervention worked. In a short while both mum and baby are stable and they leave.

A relieved Harry apologizes to Ginny. She knows now that we had an affair. I deduce that he told her earlier, the reason for their row. She is still hurt. She hates me. She tells him London is not big enough for the both of us.

I make my exit. I cannot bear to hear what else he has to say to her or her to him. I am not supposed to be there anyway.

By nightfall it is all over the news. The Potters are expecting their third child and Ginny has announced her retirement from Professional Quidditch for good to become a full-time wife and Mum.

Britain is happy for them. I am too. I guess that's why I'm crying as I'm turning off the news. I call my Mum, my refuge, to see if she minds her girls staying with her for a couple of days. She doesn't.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was early morning in London. Ginny barely slept. She just got off the phone with Ron who spent the night at the Auror office. They had not heard back from Harry since he checked in to tell them that he had Hugo and that they were tracking a lead.

Ginny sensed that something was not right. The Head Auror of Great Britain decided to follow a lead without using the vast resources available to him. Ron reassured her that this behavior wasn't totally off character for Harry while in the field but she could not calm down. What was taking so long? If something bad happened to the boy…

She felt bad for Hugo. If he were hers she would have stood up for him and told everybody ages ago that he was Harry Potter's son. Hugo wouldn't have turned out this way. What Hermione did, as selfless as her motives were, was so wrong.

And it was just as wrong for Hermione to let Harry stay married to her. Hermione should have fought for him. When she found out from her one-time team mate and erstwhile friend, Druhilda, that she had a missing memory she immediately figured out who Harry had almost married. It was so obvious and explained why Hermione had been distant those months after.

Ginny almost called it all off. If she could go back in time she would have called it off, even after Hermione had given her blessing and although the Healers said there was no hope for Harry to regain his lost memory. Ginny gave Hermione every opportunity to stand up for herself, half-expected her to say something before and during the official wedding but when she didn't Ginny could only conclude that she had given up on Harry. At that time Harry was happy with her and she found no point in bringing it up again. You do unthinkable things when you're in love

Things were fine for a long time. Hermione had moved on with Ron. They started families and they were all happy; or so Ginny wanted to believe. Actually, she wasn't paying attention. It was a time when she wanted to have everything, the husband, the children, the career, the works. She was blinded by a singlemindedness that she would get it all. It came crashing down when Hermione separated from Ron and came back to London.

Harry began spending time with Hermione. Initially Ginny thought nothing of it. Hermione was separating from the father of her daughter and she needed a friend. Whatever gut feeling Ginny had about the possibility of Hermione trying to get Harry back was quickly quelled by logic, confidence and trust. Harry loved her; they had Al and James, he would never. And neither would Hermione. They were the two most trustworthy people she knew.

What she didn't notice was how much more distant Harry was and how much they had grown apart. She was too busy and too tired trying to have it all, too focused on getting her name on the Quidditch Cup. Her rare chance at immortality was within reach and she wanted it so much she even risked her daughter's life, hiding her pregnancy from Harry and from everyone else so her could stay on the team. In the end in her quest to have everything she didn't get everything. She almost lost Lily, the team didn't win the cup and she lost Harry's undivided love.

It was the morning of his 27th birthday and she remembered it like it was yesterday. She recalled the frustration of waiting for him to come home the night before, the anxiety of not being able to get a hold of him, the fight against the urge to go where she knew she would find him. For most of her life she had been fearless but not that night. That night she was afraid to face the truth.

Instead she waited for the morning to summon the courage to confront him knowing what doing so could mean. The smell of Hermione on him as he walked into the kitchen floor was like a slap on her face and there was no doubt in her mind about what happened.

He apologized but no apology ever could make up for what he did. Words just didn't cut it. At that moment she didn't even know if she could ever forgive him.

And she could have let him go. It was very tempting to exact revenge that way, to take from him his children, what he had given up his mistress for, and she was feeling very vindictive. However, she didn't because he asked for another chance and because, although he wasn't perfect in her eyes anymore, she loved him still. One does unimaginable things for love.

It had been a while since she thought about their affair. Time had somewhat dulled down how she felt about their betraying her trust and with it an acceptance that Harry loved another woman more than he would love her. It took years for her to realize that truth.That was the hardest thing to live with, knowing that he chose to stay in their marriage not because he loved her more but because he made a vow he couldn't break.

Ginny had no regrets about staying with him. She had her family and while it was never the same with Harry since, she couldn't imagine being wife to anyone else. That had always been her problem.

She got up and dressed and made her way down the hall, magically checking each of her children's rooms. She wasn't usually this paranoid when they were home. The Pitch was the safest place on earth next to Gringotts and Hogwarts, Harry made sure of that. But with what happened to Hermione and the business about the Master of the wand and of Death she had to be vigilant.

Lily was still in bed. And James too, as she expected. Al wasn't in his room but he was an early riser. She went downstairs and did a quick search and that was when she became concerned.

She found Anne with the twins in the kitchen.

"Has Al been down?"

Ron's wife replied, "Haven't seen Al yet or Rosie for that matter. She's usually up at this time. Is she with Lily?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo joined his father and his Aunt Jessie at the foot of his Mum's bed. They were arguing about Warren.

"You're assuming Hermione told him everything," Aunt Jessie was sceptical, "She obviously didn't tell him where the cloak is."

"What are you saying? That he may not be lying?"

"I don't know if he is or he isn't. He could very well be. I'm just saying that as much as we know what an ass..." she glanced at Hugo somewhat warily and changed her negative tone, "We know how Warren can be and we know he and Hermione had a connection that was difficult for us to understand but the fact that Hermione didn't tell him where the cloak is makes me wonder just how much she trusted him about the Hallows and what she led him to believe. Lying or not I feel he has Hermione's best interest at heart. He is serious about the dangers of Malvado finding out Hermione is alive."

"Is it safe to move her?" the Auror asked impatiently, ignoring her last remark about Warren.

"I think so, but…"

"She can't stay here, not if I'm not around!"

"Where are you going to take her?"

"Grimmauld," his father replied and glanced at him.

Hugo took his cue. He had just talked the Elfin guards into allowing them to take his Mum. He hoped his father would agree to what he had worked out with the beings.

"The Elfin locals have agreed. They want to come with us."

Immediately his father was unreceptive, "They could be spies."

"No. They are loyal. They owe my Mum their existence and are magically bound to serve her to her death," Hugo tried to be convincing, and when the Auror continued to hesitate, added, "If you want us to go peacefully this is not a choice. They insist."

After a few seconds the Auror relented, "Very well. Let me get a team together..."

"That won't be necessary. They will help us move her."

His father was still unsure but Hugo met his questioning gaze with reassurance. Yes, Hugo was sure about this. He actually felt more secure that the local elves were coming and that his Mum wouldn't be left at Grimmauld without their protection. He trusted them more than he trusted his father's Aurors.

"Warren won't be happy when he finds out we're gone," Aunt Jessie cautioned.

"I'll apologize," his father replied with sarcasm, and just like him, Hugo couldn't care less how Warren felt, “Let’s do this.”

The older Potter talked to the nuns, thanked them for their hospitality and easily persuaded them to let his Mum go. Perhaps Hugo should have mentioned to him that using magic on servants of God usually came back to bite in a big way but knowing his father wasn't religious he kept it to himself.

His Mum looked like she was in deep sleep. The Head Auror lifted her easily and cradled her in his arms. With the help of the elves, they broke through Warren's protective wards and got to Grimmauld via a newly programmed Portkey.

The move was done swiftly and without a hitch. The ability of the elves to easily go through magical barriers of the hospital made that possible. But as far as Hugo could tell Warren had not been alerted to their departure and that made him anxious. This was so unlike Warren to let them go.

Standing just inside the foyer at number twelve Grimmauld, Hugo felt an instant dislike of the place. It was the first time Hugo had been there. His Mum had talked about it fleetingly, how his father had sold it to her when she needed a place. It was around the time they fell in love, or at least when his mother realized she was in love. Hugo figured that out from how she didn't talk much about it.

Thinking about Grimmauld always left him with this distasteful emotion. As far as he knew his Mum still owned it but like most things that connected her to the head Auror, Grimmauld was relegated to the background, suspended in that moment in time, too painful to keep looking at but too precious to get rid of. It was kind of like how he thought his Mum felt about his father and how she must have felt about him when he was born, though his Mum would probably deny that.

He followed his father and Aunt Jessie up the flight of stairs and as he did he could not help but notice how well kept and clean the place was. The elfin guards were talking quietly amongst themselves about it too. The Auror seemed to not think this odd.

“Does somebody live here?” it was his Aunt Jessie who finally asked.

“No,” his father replied as they walked up, “Someone looks after it.”

That someone wasn’t here at the moment. Hugo wondered who it was and how his father came to know. All that became unimportant as he watched the Auror take his Mum into the first room on their right. The curtains were pulled back and light from the rising sun just peeping over the horizon filtered in. The room looked worn, the paint old and chipped in some places, but there was something about it that touched him; something unexplainable, magical maybe. It was like their being there made it come to life.

Aunt Jessie removed the protective covering from the bed and from the furniture, conjured sheets and pillows, and they both watched his father set his Mum down gently. He adjusted her pillow, drew the sheets up to cover her and brushed off the strand of hair that had fallen on her face. As much as Hugo wanted to believe this was only for show his father clearly cared about his Mum a lot.

Just then a silver horse burst through the French windows. It was a Patronus.

Aunt Ginny's urgent voice spoke, "Al is missing. Rosie too. They went after Hugo. Find them. Bring them back."

With the message delivered the Patronus disappeared. Hugo looked over to his father who had just sent his Patronus to reply. He was on the phone and talking hurriedly, asking questions. Hugo could tell it who it was because he could hear his Dad's voice spill out from the phone receiver.

“I have to go back.,” he told Aunt Jessie, “Hugo will come with me. Let me know as soon as she wakes up”

The Auror also spoke to the guards, “I mean no disrespect but I've sent for two men to come here and help."

"We understand," one of the elves replied.

"Ron Weasley and Ted Lupin. They are family. Can you make sure they go through the wards?”

“Grudy will. And when the caretaker comes?”

“She can be trusted too.”

His father modified the Portkey they used and in no time they were back inside Gracie's restaurant.

XXXXXXXXXX

Earlier…

Al and Rosie followed Warren and the vampire, Gracie, through a series of dark tunnels. His heart had not stopped pounding against his chest since he made the decision to go down there. His instinct told him not to but he did not trust this wizard Gates and he could not let Rosie go by herself.

Although Gates had not said it specifically, Al assumed that he was taking them to where his Dad and Hugo were. Al’s worry increased five-fold when they arrived at what looked like a run-down hospital. They were in a large room, empty bed in the middle and Gates was talking with a nun. His Dad and Hugo were nowhere in sight.

"Something's wrong," he hissed solely for his cousin to hear.

Rosie agreed, "Let's ask him."

"We shouldn't have to. Let's wait what he has to say. I don't trust him and you shouldn't either."

The warning made Rosie frown. At least she didn’t protest his lack of trust.

"Well," Gates said to the pale faced woman as they approached, "This is unexpected."

"What do we do now?" Gracie answered anxiously.

"I know where she is," Gates replied pensively, “The place is secure enough and access will not be a problem.”

She?

"And them?" Gracie motioned to them as if they weren’t there.

The wizard without hesitation turned to Rosie and explained in this calm, soothing voice, "Hugo and his Dad have gone back home. You're both free to go back to London. But I could really use your help to catch Malvado."

The vampire tried not to look so puzzled but Al caught her reaction in time. Whatever Gates was up to it was no good and his heart sank as he heard Rosie reply without hesitation.

“Malvado has to pay for what he did. I’m in.”

"Thank you, Rosie," Gates responded, "And Al, you're welcome to stay too."

Al wanted to talk some sense into Rosie but instead, and oddly so, he said he would.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. That’s Ginny. So why did Harry stay with her?

46. A Second Chance

A/N. There was no mincing of words about how most of you felt about Ginny. I should have expected that more than I did – I’m so clueless:blush:

Anyway – the italics are a continuation of the past - totally skippable. It’s Harry, answering why he stayed and Hermione, early on in her Hugo pregnancy. I always hope for understanding or tolerance from the readers but I appreciate honest thoughts. And I am more prepared for the zingers this time.

Then the present - I had fun writing this bit.

And to all my fellow Canadians – Happy Canada Day!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 46 – A Second Chance

It is late in the day and I am on my way back to her room. Ginny was resting and I left her bedside to take a walk. I needed to think; I needed some time away to go through what just happened.

I almost killed her. I almost killed her and our baby. It scares me that I could be capable of something like that. I've apologized to her but no matter how much I do it isn't enough. She has tried to make me feel better. She said she had a part in it too, that it wouldn't have happened had I not been provoked. But provoked or not it was not right. Only Ginny's insistence that it was an accident and that we both caused it have kept a formal inquiry from taking place.

I walk in on her and she is up. She is alone, crying. I haven't seen her cry like this in a very long time. The second she notices she stops I think because she's too proud to let me see how much I've hurt her. I sit on the chair beside her bed and look into her eyes. They are hurt, sad, angry and conflicted. I expect they will be the kind I’ll be seeing a lot of.

"We have to talk," I say simply.

"Yes, we have to," she agrees, "Can I start?"

Her voice wavers and there is uncertainty within her. This isn't comfortable and she isn't sure. I don’t know why she even asks me if she can.

"Okay."

"You must think I'm horrible."

Her voice breaks and she is almost whispering the words. She looks down at her lap because she is ashamed and can’t look at me.

"Don't sa..."

"Please, let me finish. If I don't get this out now I will never be able to," she pleads. I nod and she continues, "I'm horrible. I was thinking about what happened, what I did, what I said, and I just realized I'm a horrible person.

"When Druhilda told me what happened I planned on telling you right away. It was um... very hard. I couldn't. I kept telling myself that I'd do it the next day and then the next and then the next. It got harder with each passing day and then I just gave up trying. I knew I would never be able to. I was so afraid to lose you. I eventually sold myself this lie that you're better off not knowing, that we were happy, that the past didn't matter, that everyone had moved on and there was no point.

"I didn't think you'd ever remember so when you said you did I totally lost it. I concluded that it must have been her, that she wanted you back so she told you, because it was something I would have done if it were me.

"When you walked into the kitchen this morning...the smell of her on you...I felt...I feel humiliated and I said things that I shouldn't have. I don't even know what she went through, I didn't want to know and what I said about Herm...her I could have easily said about me. I'm the backstabbing bitch and I made the bed I'm lying on."

She blinks away tears from her eyes and brushes them off her face. It is an apology, as close to one as she will ever make. I feel sorry for her, for how she's feeling, for how she is admitting her wrong.

I say what I believe, "I don't think you're a horrible person. We all make mistakes."

"And we live with the consequences of our mistakes," she retorts.

She is too hard on herself and I want to reassure her. I reach for her.

"No, please,” she abruptly snatches her hand away, “Don't touch me, not right now."

I'm confused. I don't understand. I suspect why she doesn't want me to touch her but I don't know what she wants to happen. Does she want me to leave? Does she want me to stay?

She continues, "I broke your trust."

"So did I."

"I did it first."

“It doesn’t matter,” I argue.

“Yes, it does,” she argues back.

We are going nowhere so I finally ask, "What are you saying?"

She gets to the point.

"Why are you still here, Harry? Why aren't you running away from me knowing I've turned into this selfish hag?"

I've been asking myself the same question though not in her exact words. While she was resting the memory of our conversation washed over me like a sobering cold shower. Never in my life could I have thought she could be this full of herself and proud.

I should still be angry that I’m not with Hermione because of her, but surprisingly I’m not. On any other day and under any other circumstance I would tear her apart for keeping the truth from me. On any other day it would be easy to walk away from her. My own guilt and my recognition my own shortcomings keep me from walking out the door.

I have known Ginny almost all my life. Being part of a huge family she grew up fighting for what she wanted all the time and for most of her life she usually got what she wanted. I see why she couldn't tell me. She was afraid to lose me and she did what she did because she loves me. It may not be how I want her to care about me but it is what it is.

To hide the truth was wrong and selfish and she admits to it and as huge as it was I find I can't judge her based on her one mistake. She isn't a bad person just because once she did something wrong. I've had my own blunders and the conscious one I made is as terrible if not worse than the one she did. Neither of us are perfect and if I can’t forgive her then I don’t have the right to ask for forgiveness, much less deserve it.

So we come to this, faced by the fact that our lives and our children's lives hang on a precarious balance dependent on the answer to the question of why I am still here. It is not as complicated once I strip away the reasons why I shouldn’t and accept the reasons why I should.

My voice quivers as I answer, "I'm here because this is where I should be. You may not think so right now but I do love you. You're my wife and I made a vow to have a life with you, to love you, for better or for worse. I did sign up for this and for a moment I forgot about that. It’s been rough the past year but I have hope that we can make this better. It would be hard to live with not giving us a second chance."

She pauses and thinks for a moment, no doubt dissecting every word of why I remain by her side. I realized tonight that I do love Ginny, differently from how I love Hermione, but I care about her a lot. I will always feel about her this way because of who she is in my life. I hope she won’t ask me who I love more because really it doesn’t matter. And I don’t think I can lie. It is already a lot to ask her to stay with me knowing she isn’t the only one. I wonder now if it is unfair to ask her to stay.

"Harder than not being with the one you want to be with?" she questions.

"This is where I want to be," I say to her firmly and add, "But I can't fix this by myself. You have to be in on it. You have to want to be here too."

She is trying not to cry again as she honestly admits, "I still don't know if I can forgive you."

"All I ask is for you to try.”

"And what if she decides she wants you back?"

This is where Ginny has it all wrong. She assumes Hermione thinks like her. I can't tell her that Hermione, all this time, didn't ever say she wanted me back. Had she said it I would have done the unimaginable for her. It was me who had a hard time letting go.

But I sense that all she wants is some reassurance that what happened with Hermione won't repeat itself. That I can give her. As hurtful as saying the truth is out loud I tell her what she needs to hear.

"She won't. I promise you, it won't happen again."

I have every intention of keeping that promise. We talk some more, about James, Al and the baby we are about to have. We talk about stuff we haven't been able to because we were too busy. Then later that night she makes a big decision and announces it on the telly. It was a difficult one to arrive at but she is giving up her career for us, for her family. If that isn't a commitment to make things work out between us then nothing is.

For the first time in a month I can see light and I can breathe freely. It is as fresh a start as any and I consider myself lucky. At that moment I think of Hermione and I remember how she looked at me years ago that day I married Ginny for the second time. I remember what she said then and the full meaning of it just now hits me.

“I’m happy for you.”

Knowing that is both painful and reassuring. That is how she loves me. I wish Ginny would love me the same way but she loves me differently, just as I love her differently, and it is beyond me to change that.

XXXXXXXXXX

I've been sick for a couple of days. I've been throwing up even though I haven't been able to hold anything down. I'm pregnant with Harry's baby.

I found out last week. I was late so I bought a couple of pregnancy tests from the local Muggle pharmacy. When those were positive I did the next most logical thing; I disguised myself and walked into a Muggle clinic under an alias to get confirmation. It’s not exactly normal behaviour but I have my reasons.

Apparently I am eight weeks on the way. I got pregnant that night before his birthday. Just my luck. I sleep with him twice and the one time I used the idiot proof contraceptive spell it failed me yet again. It seems like that’s a problem only when I’m with him.

I think I've been throwing up not so much because I'm pregnant but because of the stress from the decision I have to make. What do I do? Abortion is, without a doubt, out of the question. I thought about adoption briefly and couldn't get past the idea of strangers raising our child. It was settled pretty quickly that I would keep him or her. I just don't know what to tell him...or if to tell him at all.

This is hard. I think of Trish, already judged and ostracized as a baby for merely existing, and my Dad was a mere mortal. I remember how I felt about my half-sister, how I hated her and how I would have hated my Dad more had my Mum not been by his side through all of it. I can’t even begin to think what this would do to Rosie.

I don’t want that for my children, I don’t want that for his children and I don’t want that for him. And as hard as I tried I couldn’t think how telling him and letting everyone know we had an affair and had a child could be good for anyone.

I’m sick and tired of thinking about what to do. I keep going around in circles and coming to that same point. The world can’t know and that means he can’t know. He can’t go through this again, not now, not when he’s trying so hard to make his marriage better. But he’s going to hate me...if he finds out...which he will...then the world will know and all of what I don’t want to happen will happen anyway.

At least the later that day comes the better the chances are that our children will have happy childhoods. That has to be worth doing this for.

“Mummy? Mummy?” I hear Rosie call out in near darkness.

I walk over to her crib and pick her up. We are both crying. She needs a hug. I need one too.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry appeared inside the vampire's restaurant with Hugo. Outside, the entire building, including the neighbouring Muggle stores, was cordoned off by yellow tape as a crowd of locals looked on from behind the lines. There were SAMP everywhere dressed as Muggle law enforcement officers and an investigation was taking place. He approached the man in charge, the short, stocky, bald guy who was also investigating Hermione's supposed murder.

“Bomber, is it?” he greeted.

The SAMP man grunted. He was in a foul mood.

“Auror Potter. This can't be coincidence.”

Harry’s phone was ringing. He ignored it as a more pressing matter was at hand.

“I am looking for my son and my niece.”

“Your son and your niece," the wizard repeated, as body bags were being taken away from the scene, "They were here but not anymore.”

Harry knew that already. That was why he came here. He glanced over to Hugo, concerned belatedly that the scene was too much for a thirteen-year-old to see and found himself staring at Teddy's face. Hugo had transformed himself to the young Auror. His son shook off his query, Hugo's voice echoing in his head.

"Not now."

Distracted somewhat Harry asked the SAMP another question, “What happened?”

“You tell me. There is evidence that you were here earlier. Three dead, two seriously wounded, all Malvado’s henchmen. Were you part of this?”

He had enough of the man's unwelcome tone, “What are you suggesting?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you knew Hermione Granger and Jean Peverell are one and the same?! I can help you with what you are trying to do if you tell me what you know. Witnesses say Malvado’s men were very interested in the boy. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” Harry answered, thinking about Hugo disguised as Ted. He definitely knows, “Did you ask the locals?”

“They’re tight-lipped. They are scared to talk about Jean Peverell or Hermione Granger or about her son who you now say is also your son. Aren’t you married to someone else?”

He was about to correct the wizard about which son he was looking for but Hugo interrupted, “That’s none of your fucking business.”

“And who are you, Puto?” Bomber asked.

“This is one of my men, Ted Lupin.”

“Fuck. An underling. Well, Auror Potter, my department’s patience wears thin. There is talk that Malvado is about to make a big move. Everybody is jumpy because it could mean the end of the world as we know it. If Malvado wanted your son, chances are he already has him. He may be de...”

The wizard was choking and Harry couldn’t care less. Hugo’s firm tug on his arm brought him back to reality.

As Bomber coughed to get air into his lungs, Harry snatched his phone angrily and finally ended the incessant ringing.

“What?!”

XXXXXXXXXX

Minutes earlier, halfway across the globe, Dennis Creevey was in the DOM offices in the MoM in London. He just put through a phone call to the Head DOM from an unusual caller and Cristo Maximus was looking more anxious than usual.

Through the glass window Dennis could see an animated Head Unspeakable in full view. Whoever it was he was speaking with was getting an earful. It was a pity that the offices were swept for bugs too often there was no way he could eavesdrop that way. And he wished he learned to lip-read.

Dennis stepped into the loo, took out his phone and dialled a number. He had to report to Harry that some wizard named Boris Dovalov from St. Petersburg was ruffling Max’s feathers.

XXXXXXXXXX

Around the same time Neville Longbottom was hurriedly making his way down the path towards the main Hogwarts gates. He had his Muggle phone in hand and was waving it in the air from side to side. That morning, Neville nervously broke into the Charms Professor quarters while Professor Hullseye was attending to the magical mayhem pranksters had just unleashed in the Dungeons. He found Flitwick’s chest with the POTH labelled handle exactly where he remembered it was.

Fully intending to use spells to remove it from the room, he was surprised to find the latch open. Neville lifted the lid. The chest was bare. He groaned inwardly realizing that somebody beat him to whatever it was that was in it.

Hullseye? Maybe. But the Charms Professor would have said something or told someone. Neville would have to ask questions discreetly.

As he closed the lid it shut harder than he intended. He cringed at the sound echoing throughout the room. Then...

Clink.

Something fell inside the chest. He opened it again, this time slowly and with more caution. At the bottom of it, where there was nothing just moments ago, was a small, pale yellow circular object. He picked it up gingerly and rested it in the palm of his hand. It was a Snitch; a very old Snitch.

He quickly put it into his pocket and left Professor Hullseye’s quarters. He needed to tell Harry right away. Dammit, where is that phone signal?!

XXXXXXXXXX

Miles away at Grimmauld, Ted Lupin was still in shock as the CFO explained to him what had transpired in the past few hours. Hermione was alive.

His instructions from his godfather were to protect Grimmauld and the people in it. It was simple and understandable enough. He looked over to the elfin guards who were eyeing him with suspicion. He nodded at one of them. The elf ignored it. Ted sensed mistrust. Great. He was supposed to work with them.

Then something alerted the elves. Their wands were off their holsters in a split second. Someone was attempting to get through the wards. It was an unkempt man, tall, thin and with a grey beard. He looked very much like a guy who lived on the streets.

“That’s Gummy!” Jessie exclaimed excitedly and when Ted didn’t understand she added, “Gummy! Saul Gumonhisshoe! He’s supposed to be POTH!”

Ted was about to let Gummy in when he was stopped by one of the elves.

“We’re looking for him,” Teddy reasoned.

“Some humans we cannot trust,” came a stoic reply from the elder elf.

“But his life could be in danger and he might be able to help,” Jessie countered with some frustration.

The Elfin leader stood her ground, “Enter he cannot unless Ron Weasley he is. And I would test Grudy not.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile Ron was at the Ministry Auror Office fresh from a meeting with Trussell and the other Aurors. There was another murder overnight. Jurnuk, the most vocal goblin leader in Britain and a spokesperson for goblins around the world, was attacked by a pack of werewolves.

Trussell didn’t think it was related to the other killings and Ron was inclined to agree but he could not totally rule out the possibility. He had to look into it himself. He had not worked with Harry’s team at all and at this point he didn’t know who to trust. It was odd too that the former Head Auror Hosiah Humptail was at the proceedings. That didn’t feel right. Something was about to go down and he had to warn Harry.

Admittedly it was hard to concentrate. His mind was all over the place. Ron was worried about Rosie even though Harry was on it and promised he would find her. He would talk to Harry about finding her himself as soon as he got to Grimmauld. All that business about going there was confusing but the way Harry sounded on the phone it was something not to be discussed. Harry’s cryptic message that Jessie would be there to explain said it all.

He was on his way there now. As he got to the lifts something shook. He ignored it, thinking he was just imagining it. Then it happened again. This time, the disturbance was followed by sirens. There was a security breach in the Ministry.

It could be anything. He drew his wand out and immediately Disapparated to the location - the morgue. Ron stepped over a lab technician who was out cold on the floor. On his left there were a couple of unconscious MLE who were likely the first to respond to the call.

He scanned the area and barely finished when he came face to face with the intruder. His jaw dropped. Standing in the center of the room was the remains of his ex-wife, or what was left of her, freshly thawed out from a nearby freezer where she had been since Jessie examined her yesterday. She had a wand in hand and had it pointed straight at him.

“Hermione, wait a...!”

She fired. He blocked it then took cover behind one of the freezers. He ducked as another shot zinged past his left ear. What the fuck?!

“Let me go!” she commanded.

“I know it’s difficult to see...um...what with your eyes gouged out of their sockets but it’s me...Ro...”

Ron cringed. A curse pulverized a significant portion of the wall behind him.

“Let me go!”

Go? Where?

“Honey, are you sure you want to be seen in public like this? Perhaps you should reconsider.”

Others had arrived and earned some of Hermione’s attention. Shit! What the fuck was he supposed to do? Kill his already dead ex-wife again?

And like many times in his Auror career when faced with a difficult situation he asked himself the question - what would Harry do?

That was easy. Harry would lunge at her and sacrifice himself if only to keep her from killing someone else.

Okay. Definitely not doing that.

Ron - think...for once in your life, think!

One...she’s doesn’t look like her...

Two...it’s been a full minute and she’s not arguing with you...

Three...she’s hurting innocent people...

All of which means she’s not the Hermione you know...fuck it.

He stood up and fired a burst of offensive curses that Hermione parried off easily. He now had her full and undivided attention.

As they stared each other down in the open Ron thought to himself. Hermione had always been a much better dueller than he was and he wouldn’t be able to kill her even if he tried. Beads of cold sweat trickled down his forehead. If he survived this, Anne would surely give him hell for being so stupid.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the Pitch, Ginny paced. Anne was trying to tell her things would be fine. Harry would find Al and Rosie and bring them back. It was not that she didn’t trust Harry but she wanted to go out there herself and look for Al. She hated feeling so helpless and not being able to do anything.

The wards sounded off. There was someone at the main gates but the camera pointed at the spot to identify callers was aimed somewhere else. The bell was ringing and she answered.

“Who is it?”

“Hi Princess. I didn’t think you answered your own door. Is the butelf away?”

Her pulsed quickened. Only one person spoke to her that way.

“I wouldn’t bother sounding the alarm if I were you,” Gates said just as she was about to do the very thing. “I have to tell Harry your security sucks. I come in peace. Let me in. I read on the Magical Homemaker you just redecorated. I want to see what you’ve done with the place.”

“You’re a wanted criminal. If you think I will let you in...”

“Oh yes, you will,” came his smug reply. Al’s and Rosie’s faces came into focus on the screen, “I believe one of these brats is yours.”

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. I don’t write Ron a lot because I don’t like to but he can be so much fun to write :lol: Warren is just a hoot.

Was Harry and Ginny’s second chance believable?

There’s always that question of why stay with Ginny when he doesn’t love her. I can’t think that he doesn’t if he decided to try with her again. Or maybe he doesn’t and as one of you said – we sometimes believe what we want to believe. I leave that to your imagination :)

And Ginny...some of you already mentioned how you pity her. Many hate her to the core. Was her sacrifice too little too late?

47. A Family of Runners

A/N. My apologies for taking so long. It has been busy in RL.

I appreciate all the emotional and passionate reviews. Even though some of them are painful to read the insight they bring into the story is invaluable. I wouldn't be able to write what I write without them. You guys make this fic the way it is and for that I'm truly grateful.

Full plate here to make up for the long delay.

First the past - yes I also ask myself why can't I just move on, but please keep the groaning down. Like before you may choose to skip it. In it Hermione tells Ron about Hugo and where the conversation goes surprises her (and me) and it's my last ditch attempt to write how Hermione ended up marrying Ron minus the subtlety. It also fulfills some mystery requirements.

Then there's present Ginny and present Warren. More mystery stuff. Hugo and Harry have a moment near the end.

Happy reading.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 47 - A Family of Runners

It is late November and I am at my Pine Hill home. Months ago I converted the study into a more permanent office so I wouldn’t need to be at the Ministry much. I've completed many of the projects I started in London and convinced Kingsley that there is more important work to be done elsewhere in Britain.

So I am running away again. Yes, it did cross my mind that I shouldn't change my life for Harry and Ginny. Just because she says London is not big enough for us and I'm having Harry's illegitimate child doesn't mean I should move out of my office and uproot my daughter. But I don't want to be the excuse if they can't work this out. And besides, if I do this right I won't have to come to the Ministry offices frequently for a very long time.

Today, Ron is picking up Rosie for a father-daughter weekend. When he arrives Rosie is still napping and I summon up the nerve to tell him about the pregnancy. I have to tell him out of courtesy as we are not officially divorced yet. He will be the first person I will be sharing this with.

"You're pregnant?"

Ron is shocked; maybe appalled is a better word.

"Twelve weeks," I lie.

It is more like eighteen. Hiding my pregnancy under my robes and with the aid of Disillusionment charms is easy. I plan to tell everybody my baby is due in late May and that is when I will officially have it. That way Harry would never think he is the father. Of course, I can't be pregnant for ten months and I am not taking some experimental potion to keep the baby in my body longer. I've thought this through. I can make myself scarce for the next few months and try my best not to deliver early.

"And the father?"

"Some married guy I met at a bar in St. Petersburg."

"What?" Ron is unable to hide his reaction, "Does he know?"

"No."

"Aren't you going to tell him?"

"I didn't really catch his name."

"You're telling me that you slept with a complete stranger you met in a bar?!" he is still in disbelief.

Okay, so maybe it's a bit of a stretch and I didn't think this through as well as I thought I did. If I can't convince gullible Ron all this will fall like a house of cards but Harry would never believe I would get into a serious relationship so soon after the break up with him either. Temporary insanity was the only way to go.

I get defensive, "It was a weak moment!"

"I'll say."

"Are you accusing me of lying?!"

"No. I just didn't think you'd be capable of meaningless sex and be careless enough to get knocked up," I am glaring at him, this is getting worse. He backs down, "I mean, from experience I can vouch for your contraceptive charm. It's really a miracle we had Rosie."

He brings that up because I often delayed gratification of whatever urges we had to make sure we were well protected. The truth was Rosie was a planned baby conceived the night Ron and I married.

"Well, I did get pregnant and who the father is is irrelevant. I'm having the baby without him."

"Are you out of your mind? You can't bring that child into the world fatherless!"

It's not that I have a choice. But even if I had I'm ticked off by his Neanderthal logic that I can't have a kid on my own.

"And why not?"

"Because - because it's crazy. What will people say about you?"

"I don't care."

He knows this about me. He has another point.

"What about the kid? What are you going to tell the kid when it grows up? That it doesn't have a father because he's some married guy you met at a bar?"

I am red in the face. First of all, the baby is not an 'it'. Secondly, as much as I hate to admit it, he is right. It was worse to have my child think he or she was an accidental product of lust than an accidental product of love, especially because the former wasn't true. What was I thinking?! As I try to conjure up a strategy, which meant more lies, Ron continues.

"And I can't have Rosie grow up being known as the daughter of some scarlet woman!"

Of course not, this is Ron after all.

"Rosie will be fine," I say though I'm not so sure.

But he isn't listening anymore. He has this look that he is having a rare brainstorm.

"Who else knows?"

"Nobody yet."

"Perfect!"

"Why?"

"We can tell everyone I'm the father!"

This is getting ridiculous. I have to put an end to this.

"Ron..."

"We can say we made up and we're having a baby!"

"Can it, Ron. You can't be the father. And stop saying 'we'. There is no 'we'."

"Why can't I be the father?"

"Because - because - you don't even know the father," I blurt out the first reason that came to mind.

"Which is a good thing," he points out.

True but still...

"I can't ask you to be responsible my baby."

"You're not asking. I'm offering."

"This is just crazy, Ron."

"No, it's not," he argues with me, "I don't mind. I'd rather do this than stand by and watch bad things happen to my Rosie and you because of what the kid will bring. This way Rosie will have a real brother or sister and the kid will have an identity.”

I am shaking my head. I'm not doing this; I am so not doing this.

Ron dispells my hesitation and goes for the clincher, “What have you got to lose? If you don’t want to do this for yourself do this for the kid; do this for Rosie”

I hate it when my ex uses what he knows about me to win an argument. It is so tempting but I can’t help but wonder if there is anything else behind his altruism.

“We’re not getting back together,” I make myself clear, “We’re going through with the divorce.”

“Of course we are,” he answers convincingly, “We’ll just delay the final process until the baby comes. When are you expecting?”

“May.”

I still don’t like it. It is Harry’s baby and Ron would have a fit when he finds out. On the other hand, that was probably going to happen anyway.

This proposal had a deja vu feeling to it. It felt exactly how it felt when he proposed to me while I was in the desperate-for-my-own-family pit. I said yes because I was convinced he was my one remaining chance for life-long happiness. He proposed within days of Harry and Ginny announcing they were having Al and we had a no fuss wedding soon after.

"One week," I say, having learned from that misstep, "Let's think about it for a week."

"Fine. But I won't change my mind."

I was hoping he would but he never did. Word got around quickly. Ron always had a big mouth.

'Mum, no. Don't get too excited. We are not back together.'

I never could figure out why my Mum thought it so tragic that Ron and I broke up. I didn't think she was particularly fond of him when we were going out.

'Tell Seamus that just because Ron and I are having another baby it doesn't mean we're a couple again.'

Since my return to London Ministry Jessie and I have become 'closer' friends. I like Jessie because she is down to earth and funny. We also don't know each other well enough to have spontaneous serious discussions which I prefer to avoid these days. I think she is the type who wants to keep her distance too. She doesn't like talking about herself or about her past and she doesn't pry into my business unless I bring it up or unless her husband makes her.

'I don't care what he told you. We've gone down that road too many times. We know it's a dead end. And really, I don't appreciate your meddling. You have no say in who I see and who I'm with. You have a say in everything else but not this. Are we clear on that?'

It annoyed me that Harry was worried. I know he means well and wants to warn me because he knows getting back with Ron is a mistake. He's feeling guilty about me doing just that (Ron must have strongly suggested the possibility). But the last thing I need is for him to say anything, good or bad, everytime I see someone, not that I can imagine myself dating again, although I know I eventually will. Really, he forfeited that right when he decided to stay with Ginny. On the bright side he seems convinced that Ron is the father.

All things considered Harry and I are fine. We are redefining some aspects of our friendship just like now but we're doing okay. I won't say it's easy but I can live with this because it is our choice and it is the right thing to do. It also helps that we had a good platonic relationship before.

And he knows not to tell me that he and Ginny have worked things out, that Al and James are happier and Ginny content. I'd rather not know the details. I am happy for him but it is so hard not to feel sorry for our child.

All that makes me think more and more about the possibility of keeping my distance for good. I'd love to stay and work for Kingsley but it's difficult to be around Harry. To be honest it stings seeing him doing his best to make his marriage work. Must he really try so hard? It's not that I don't think he should; his integrity is one of the things that I admire about him and it makes him who he is. It's just not easy being a witness to it in action and I find myself straying to the edge of the deep end of despair, measuring his love for me with ifs. I don't even want to go there.

As for Ginny and I, months after we still aren't on speaking terms. In fact, we haven't spoken a word to each other since the day before Harry's birthday and the times we've seen each other during family gatherings have been very uncomfortable. She can't stand me. I know because I see the fleeting look of disgust she hides quickly every time she sees me. I know her and I can understand how she feels. I would hate me too if I were her.

I haven't talked to her because it's a conversation I don't want to have. When I was younger I always believed that if you do something wrong, you admit it and you apologize. It was simple back then, everything was black and white. But purity of heart and innocence officially end when one learns big phrases like mitigating circumstances and grey zones. I'm avoiding her so I won't have to lie about being sorry because really, I am not. Sleeping with Harry was a conscious choice, one that I would, in all likelihood, choose to do again if I were in the same position.

And to think I did all this to someone who used to be my best girl friend. It was horrible of me though justifiable enough in my mind that the guilt doesn't make me totally hate myself. What's a night or two to indemnify (big word) me for the lifetime I won't have with him? So no, I have no remorse, nor the decency to pretend that I am sorry.

But while I have my reasons for not speaking to Ginny I'm not sure why she hasn't spoken to me, even just to tell me what a traitor I am. I thought for sure that the news would push her over the edge and that she would ask me bluntly if the baby is Harry's. She hasn’t done that either. I assume that she has some knowledge about the factors surrounding our 'affair' and since I know she hates me in spite of said knowledge I can only conclude that she's still too angry to speak.

In weeks the chatter about the unusual circumstances of my pregnancy eventually dies down. Things are settling into what would likely be the norm, that is until the holidays when I upset the Weasleys. I decide to take Rosie and spend Christmas with my Mum in Perth. It is somewhat selfish but there is something about being around the big happy Weasley family during the holidays that hurts and makes me want to vomit. I know I'll eventually get over it, I hope I will anyway, but until I do I decide not to torture myself.

Christmas day came and went. Rosie is happy I think but it doesn't take a lot to make a toddler happy. I concede to my guilt and do let Rosie spend the New Year with Ron. It is the eve and she calls from the Burrow. Ron is coaching her and he makes her ask me to come over. I choke, instanstantly hating Ron for doing this to me and our child. I tell Rosie I can't because I have to work. As I hang up I can't help but think of Harry. I miss him, more during the holidays. I wonder how long this useless process of missing him was going to be this time around.

Even though I prefer to be by myself and I intended to have a working holiday my Mum drags me to parties and holiday gatherings around Perth. I actually have a good time with my Mum's friends and their families. It is in one of these where she first introduces me to Bill, a warm, funny Aussie in his early forties whose eyes sparkled at the sight of my mother. A few days before I was to go back to Britain I decide to broach a subject I've been meaning to.

"Bill seems nice."

A bit young for my Mum who was sixty but age didn't matter.

"Do you really think so?" my Mum asks me, nervously.

"Mum, I know you two are lovers."

"Hermione Jean! Have you been reading my mind again?"

"I don't have to. It's obvious," I reply.

"You don't object?"

I reassure her, "Dad's been gone for more than four years. It's okay. You both look like you're happy. And besides, you don't need my approval to see someone."

"It's just scary," she intimates, "Your Dad was the first and only man in my life. I think I'm falling in love with Bill."

In the not so long past I probably would have found my Mum’s behaviour reprehensible but it’s amazing how perspective changes with experience. I give her more words of encouragement (I think some of them were for me) and we talk some more about Dad and how Bill is different in some ways and the same in others.

Later that night I toss and turn in bed. I can't sleep. The room is too silent, the bed too empty, the sheets too cold, and I can't help but see the parallels in my life. Before I know it I'm crying, then I get upset at myself for crying and I cry because I am crying. I've felt this before, this seemingly intractible loneliness. I once thought it would be the death of me.

I remember how I survived it the last time. I will forever be grateful to Warren for helping me through it years ago and although things didn't end well for us I'm glad he wisely left before things got..um...complicated. In actuality this loneliness is not as boundless and endless as it feels right now. I know it will get better and I will get used to it eventually.

I think of my Mum. I'm excited for her, that she has opened herself up like that to another man again. I understand the need for companionship, for intimacy and how being without someone can be difficult. I understand all that now more than ever. I am rooting for her too because if she can be happy with Bill then I will see that it is possible. I need to believe that it is possible, that I have something to look forward to, to regain the hope I lost when things didn't work out as planned with Ron.

Our baby moves, I think to remind me that I'm not alone, and I rub gently against the spot. Guilt comes again, the kind that tells me I am betraying Harry just by considering that I can fall in love again. It is stupidity to love someone this way but how do I stop thinking that being with someone else does not make me love him any less? I certainly don't think his decision to stay with Ginny means that he loves me less. It isn't fair that I apply the rule only to myself.

My phone rings. I wipe the tears off my face and reach for it on the bedside table, thankful for the distraction, until I realize it is Boris Dovalov. Boris knows better than to call me but since he is I know it is important.

"I apologize for interruption," the wizard says in his heavy Russian accent, "You have to come to St. Petersburg fast. Friend needs Jean Peverell."

"Boris, Jean Peverell is retired," I politely remind him and then I add, “Ask Grigori to make an exception and help your friend."

"You not understand. It is not my friend who needs help but yours. And it is bit complicated. There is dark player in town. Grigori suspects someone from your past. He is one who wants to kill friend."

"Which friend?"

Boris tells me and I am surprised.

"Why?"

"Disagreement about remuneration. Your friend is arrogant, pissed off wrong people, not first time as you know."

"Who is this dark wizard?"

Boris can't say, "Speak to Grigori."

I have to go. I tell my Mum something about work came up unexpectedly. On my way to St. Petersburg I think about how to convince the ageless Russian healer to tell me who the dark wizard from my past is. There are so many that I can't begin to guess. The thing is Rasputin rarely involved himself with matters of the living but I hope he deems this an exception.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the Pitch, Gates was in Ginny's head coaching her what to tell Harry on the phone.

"They just showed up," she repeated what Gates wanted her to say, "They're fine."

"Where's Al?!"

Harry was angry, angrier than he'd ever been with Al and there was no point.

"In his room. He already knows he's in trouble. It can keep until you get back then we can talk to him together," she answered then asked, "When do you think you'll be back?"

"I'm not sure," Harry replied, significantly sobered by her question, making her want to take it back, "As soon as I clear this up."

"Okay."

He hung up. Gates took the phone from her grasp and tossed it on the kitchen table from where Anne was watching with fear in her eyes.

"Don't be afraid, Anne," she tried to reassure her sister-in-law, "He's all bark and no bite."

Gates was quick to correct her, "What she means to say is, if I wanted to bite I would have already."

"What do you want?" Ginny cut through the chase.

"For starters, where the fuck are your manners? I just brought your son back in one piece. I'm feeling a lack of appreciation here."

"Thank you," she replied coldly, folding her arms across her chest.

"You're welcome. It was something any decent man in my position would do."

Ginny retorted derisively, "And I'm sure you did it because you have an ounce of decency in you."

Gates laughed, "Funny that you talk about decency as if you know the meaning of the word. But I'll take that as a compliment."

"Whatever gets you off. Look, I know you're busy catching criminals or being one so let's not waste anymore time. Why did you come here?"

"You mean aside from the pleasure of seeing you express gratitude?" he taunted, and when she didn't react Gates went on, "Actually I was curious. I found this exquisite cloak in Rosie's rucksack and she tells me it actually belongs to Harry. Can I see the rest of his collection?"

Gates wasn't asking and Ginny had no choice.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was a standoff at Grimmauld.

"We have to let him in!" Jessie exclaimed.

"We will not," Grudy could not be moved.

"I'm going out to meet him," Ted made an executive decision.

"You know not if man is who you think man is. Imposter he could be," one of the other elves pointed out.

"True," Ted acknowledged, "But he could also be the man we think he is and we won't know until someone talks to him."

"He looks very anxious," Jessie noted, "If he is Gummy then he will not stick around long enough to converse with someone he doesn't know well."

"I got that covered."

Ted changed his appearance at will and in a blink of an eye he looked exactly like his godfather.

“What do you think?”

"Your eyes and voice give you away," Grudy criticized.

Jessie was more encouraging, "You're Harry Potter. Have more confidence. And try not to speak too much. You'll do just fine. And be careful."

Ted nodded and walked out the back door. As he did he realized he didn't have much of a plan. How was he going to talk with Gummy without speaking and how was he supposed to know the man was Gummy when the only thing he knew about the former MLE was that he lost his marbles after a dark wizard made him murder his own family years ago.

His confidence wavering by the second, he was within a few feet of Gummy when the older wizard turned to face him. The bloke had the saddest pair of grey eyes Ted had ever looked into his entire life. There was little doubt in his mind that this was the former MLE.

Gummy didn't speak. He was measuring Ted as well and his stare was peeling away whatever little confidence the Metamorph had. Ted motioned him over to a less public corner and when they reached the spot, he went with his gut. He changed back to his normal appearance.

"You know who I am?" Ted asked.

Gummy nodded.

"And you know who I am."

Ted nodded back.

"Are you POTH?"

The older man carefully replied, "I cannot speak of what you speak of. I am not the Keeper."

XXXXXXXXXX

It was a standoff at the Ministry morgue. As Ron confronted the resurrected body of his ex-wife it (the body) repaired its tattered self back to normal. He could only groan internally.

I am so fucked...

Stupefy! Stupefy! Incarcerous!

Chains of metal materialized in the air and blanketed Hermione as she fell back onto the ground. The weapon she had in her hand clanked on the tiled floor.

Taken aback by the ease with which he got her under control, he let his guard down. A rush of MLE and Aurors came from behind him and fired at her, each spell that made contact made him flinch. When there was no retaliatory response, the cursing stopped. Auror Lintcoming carefully lifted the fortified incarcerous spell from her motionless figure.

Whoosh!

Dark shadowy streaks sprung out from the floor where she was. A flurry of curses, verbal and magical, filled the morgue.

"She's gone!"

"Where is she?!"

Ron swung his head from left to right. The wand that was on the floor was no longer there and the second he concluded she had it, he felt a deep jab in the back.

"Right here, boys," Hermione announced, disarming him at the same time.

He put his arms up and told the trigger happy crowd, "She's bluffing."

"Try me," she challenged, then spoke in his ear in a chilly, low, unfamiliar voice that only he could hear, "Unlike your ex I will hurt you if I have to."

Okay. She wasn't Hermione. Can this be anymore confusing? Just as he was trying to figure out what to do next, he saw Trussel and Humptail.

The Hermione imposter noticed them too and hissed what he was almost sure was a swear, "Hijo de puta."

"Fire at will!" Humptail ordered stoically from behind the front line.

He cringed for the impact but before the spell beams hit him the imposter forcibly turned him around. His feet came off the ground and they were flying at breakneck speed through the Ministry corridors. The walls were a blur and as they arrived at the lifts they made it through the almost shut doors of one and blasted through the car’s ceiling. Soaring through the elevator shaft, wizards on broomsticks were behind them, firing shots, some missing them, some hitting them. As far as he could tell they weren't defending themselves.

"What are you?!" he had to ask, screaming the words so she could hear.

His question was ignored, "Is she alive?!"

"Who?!"

"Jean Peverell, is she alive?!"

She must mean Hermione.

"You tell me! What the fuck is going on?!"

They were near the ground level. It was then when he felt his wand being shoved into his hand.

"Watch your back! Trust no one! It was nice talking with you!"

"What? Wait! We're not done...ahhhh!

He was freefalling! The bitch dropped him! The fucking bitch dropped him!

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, somewhere in Western Canada, Harry was walking alongside Hugo in near silence. Hugo had been quiet for most of the trip across the Pacific too that Harry had to ask a few times if he was okay. His son answered simply that he was. They had been going through a dense forest on this sparsely lit, unmarked path for nearly an hour, making their way towards what Hugo said would be the IMAN school grounds.

It was just past midnight local time and when Hugo insisted to come here Harry's first thought was to do so through the proper channels. Hugo talked him out of it; his son did not want to draw attention to their being there. Instead, he asked Harry to break through the school wards.

"Trust me on this."

Hugo was only thirteen. It bothered Harry that he spoke the way he did but for now let that slide.

As Harry followed his lead on the trail, it was obvious that the kid was very familiar with the woods and knew exactly where he was going. Once in a while Harry sensed and saw local wildlife about, and a couple of times almost drew his wand out, but his son seemed unperturbed, as if confident that there was nothing there that could harm them.

Hugo told him to relax, “It’s a school with students. The forest is safe here. Mum always thought the one at Hogwarts was too dangerous to be on school property.”

Harry did remain vigilant. There was a lot going on to be worried about. After speaking with Ginny and confirming that Al and Rosie were back safely at the Pitch, he got a call from Dennis that Boris Dovalov had been in touch with Max. He hadn't heard much from and about Boris for ages. Harry thought he had retired a few years after the Gaunt Moscow murders and couldn't think why the Russian would be turning up at such a strange time more than fifteen years later.

While he was speaking with Dennis, Neville was also trying to reach him. The Professor attempted to leave him a message but the Hogwarts defenses must have interfered and all Harry got was unintelligible garbage. He tried to get Neville before stepping beyond the IMAN boundary lines but was unable to and so he ended up asking Hannah to send an owl to her husband, hoping to hear what his message was about.

Then there was his inability to get a hold of Ron, of Ernie, of Padma or of Seamus. Or maybe he was just too impatient. He was anxious. He had a feeling that something was about to happen and he wanted to know what it was to prepare for it before it did. His gut said the key was POTH and Hugo said he knew someone who might have more information about them.

At last they got to a clearing.

“We’re early. They should be here in a few minutes.”

Harry could see the clusters of buildings off in the distance, in front of them, then off to the right and left. The IMAN. Harry had never been there and Hugo answered the question in his mind.

"That's the Muggle Studies Campus, much like a high school and university I guess. Over there is the Magical Being Studies school and that's the Witchcraft and Wizardry site. Just beyond is the IMAN Community where the congregation hall is and where the student living quarters are. It's the equivalent of a small magical town, it's amazing," his son described with pride in his voice, "I wish I could show you but we might trip off the alarms and wake the neighborhood up. Maybe when this is all over."

"Which campus do you attend?" Harry asked.

"The first three years we're supposed to take courses in each of the three campuses,” Hugo explained, “Then for the last four we decide with our parents and teachers which definitive learning path to take."

"What about Isa and Spencer?" Harry was curious about Hugo’s friends, "Do they go to the same classes as you all the time?”

“You’re wondering about Squibs in magical classes?”

“Yes.”

“In the first year we did. Everybody is given a wand in the first year,” Hugo replied, “And everybody gets to opt out of the magical classes anytime, well with a parent’s approval.”

There was something about how Hugo said the last part that made him think at some point his son had wanted to do that and he couldn’t imagine Hermione allowing it.

“This is certainly quite a place, unimaginable outside of it. Your Mum always had great vision,” he had to say it, “Have you and your Mum decided your learning path?”

“We’ve talked about it a few times,” Hugo seemed eager to share and Harry was relieved, “I want to be a doctor.”

“You mean a Healer?”

“No. I mean a Muggle doctor but it’s funny those are the exact words Mum said after I told her,” Hugo chuckled somewhat and he had to do the same.

“Why a doctor?”

Hugo shrugged, his eyes grew more serious and were glued on a spot on the ground as he answered, “I want to help the sick get better, find cures, so people like Grandma wouldn’t have to die the way she did.”

Hugo was talking about Hermione’s Mum who passed away from cancer a year ago. He was close to his grandmother.

“You could do that too if you’re a Healer,” Harry pointed out.

“I guess,” came his vague reply.

“You don’t like magic.”

“It’s all right. I don’t hate it.”

“You prefer not doing it?” Harry prodded, wanting so much to learn more about his son and when Hugo did not answer he continued, “It’s okay. I’m not here to judge.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate magic. I do. What’s not to like?” Hugo confided, “Spencer thinks I’m stupid and arrogant, Isa says I’m wasting a gift, but I can’t see myself living in the magical world.”

“Why not?”

Hugo looked him straight in the eye and answered simply, “Because I want to be someone. I don’t want to be known as your bastard son and in your world I will always be that.”

Harry couldn’t breathe for a moment and it broke his heart to hear Hugo think that and to see him cry. His son quickly brushed the tears off his face and tried to put up a brave front. Harry didn’t know what to say. He made a motion to reach over but Hugo stepped away.

The Auror heard himself say, “It won’t be as bad as you imagine it would be. I won’t let it.”

“I’m not blaming you. I don’t expect you to fix it. You can't..”

“Let me try,” he countered.

“But I don’t want you to,” his son responded and before he could answer back, continued, “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not trying to piss you off or bust your balls. I’m not mad at you at least not as much anymore. I’m just trying to be honest. A few days ago you didn’t know I was your son. You didn’t know me. You didn’t care about me. I was a nobody to you. So I wish you’d stop acting like you do care. I’m just an obligation that you feel guilty about because you were never there while I was growing up.

“And you're thinking of trying to make it up to me, to make me feel better, because if I do then maybe your guilt will go away. But I’m telling you now that I'm not interested in being your son or having you as my father. I don’t want to be a part of your life. I don’t want to be a part of your world.”

Hugo’s green eyes glimmered as the little light that shone on them reflected off the pool of tears. Harry understood. He could respect choice and Hugo’s desire to be able to make his. But then again, he didn’t agree and Hermione wouldn’t either.

“Does your Mum know this?”

His son shook his head, “I couldn’t tell her. I figured she had enough disappointment in her life.”

Harry nodded, realizing the difficulty. While he didn't want to antagonize Hugo it was important to be clear and honest. He had to speak his heart too.

“You're right. Days ago I didn’t know you were my son. But I am not pretending that I care about you. You are not merely an obligation and this isn't about making me feel less guilty that I wasn’t there for you. It's about setting things right, making things the way they should be or at least trying to do that.

"I love your Mum. I love her and I always will. You are our son and by default I will care about you and love you whether you want it or not. I will always want you to be a part of my life. And I’m sorry if this upsets you but it’s the truth."

Harry could tell by the way the young wizard clenched his jaw that he didn't like what he was hearing.

"I wish you'd stop lying. It only makes me angry when you do."

"I'm not lying."

"You don't love me! You don't love my Mum!"

"I do."

"I don't believe you!" Hugo rose to his mother's defense, "If you loved her then why did you leave her? Why did you stay with Aunt Ginny?!"

Harry didn't expect Hugo to understand. It had been tough for him to understand too.

He attempted to answer anyway, "Because at that time it was the right thing to do."

"Right? For whom? For Aunt Ginny? For James, for Al and for you? What about my Mum? She loved you and you left her pregnant with me! Then she watched you choose your family over her! How was that right for her!"

He was about to say that he didn't know about him, that his Mum should have said something, and things would have been different, but there was no point in bringing that up. There was no turning back, no changing the past, no reason good enough to comfort them both. There was only accepting what was.

"It wasn't right for her or for you. So, yes, you have every right to be angry. But that doesn't change the fact that I'm your father. I will always be your father, no matter what."

"I wish I never told you!" Hugo was back to his previous caustic self.

"Well you did, so here we are," Harry kept his composure, “I understand what you want. I can only imagine how horrible it must be to make the choice to not be a part of a world that will always be a part of you, because you are who you are. You’re a wizard. You cannot deny that part of you, especially not because of me. I won’t let you make that mistake.”

“You're unfair. This is my life. It's not your choice, it's mine."

"Maybe but the choice is not yours alone until you're of age."

"I won't change my mind," Hugo said with his Mum's familiar stubborn tone.

As dejected as Harry felt there was nothing else he could do at the moment. Hugo was angry that he wasn't going to let go easily and that he wasn't going to allow him to run away from who he was.

He sighed, deciding to back off for now, "Then you have nothing to worry about."

The sound of someone approaching interrupted them. They both turned towards a spot in between two pine trees. It was Hugo's friend Spencer closely followed by Isa.

"Mr. P. I'm honored to finally meet you!" an enthused Spencer shook his hand vigorously, "I heard so much about you. You're awesome!"

Harry acknowledged the greeting but had an ear trained towards Isa who was now showing Hugo something on a small handheld device.

"It has all that I could dig up about Malvado," Isa explained.

“Including your notes and paper on secret magical societies?”

“Yes. And I’m still sore at you for telling me your mum was definitely not POTH.”

"Hot wire me," Hugo replied.

Isa shook her head, "Are you crazy? It's a prototype."

"It's a good time to test it."

"Now's not a good time to fry your brains."

Harry liked his friend and how she made a lot of sense.

"I'll be fine," Hugo brushed off sound advice.

"What is it?" Harry asked, technologically challenged.

"It's a Muggle computer outfitted with an SPS," Isa answered. The blank look on his face prompted her to add, "An SPS? A synaptic pathway stabilizer? It accelerates neuronal affiliation for electrical impulses? What am I thinking. You're a wizard who still uses a cellphone."

Harry blushed, suddenly feeling old.

"Now that is just disrespectful," Spencer came to his aid, making him feel even older. He paraphrased what Isa just said in layman's terms, "It's a device that uses some principles of magical memory implantation to hasten learning and increase retention of new information, kind of like an information indexer. Hey, we could call it that. The Information Indexer, I to the power of 2 or I squared."

"It's much more that an information indexer," Isa disagreed.

Hugo cut their argument short, "It'll take me forever to read all that. We don't have time. Just hotwire me."

"To hotwire is to make use of the SPS to transfer from the computer hard drive to human brain memory cells," Spencer saved him again, "It's a data rush. It rocks!"

"We haven't tested. It may not be safe...wait," she turned from Hugo to Spencer then back to Hugo, her brown eyes opening wider by the second, "You tested it without me!"

"Aced that history test I flunked twice before," Spencer said proudly, holding his hand up for Hugo, who shook him off, "The look on our Professor's face was priceless."

"That was cheating!"

"Of course not," Spencer corrected.

Hugo concurred, “We proved that it works fine.”

"Because Spencer passed a test?!”

“Aced a test.”

“This is not exactly just a few chapters in a book. Two zerrabytes of information. That's information overload that a normal brain has not been found to be capable of retaining. Theoretically it could displace what you already have in there. You may not know who you are after."

"Tempting," Harry heard Hugo mutter.

“Forget the short cut. Just read.”

"You should really listen to her," Harry told him.

"Fine," Hugo grabbed the device and replicated it, handing one to him, "Do you know how to use these?"

"Just touch the screen," Spencer showed him, panning through tons of information quickly.

It was idiot proof enough. Harry guessed Hugo was adverse to the idea of sharing.

"We're connected to you," Isa told Hugo, "If you need info just let me know and we'll send it but as we're using Muggle microsattelites we may get dropped signals if you are in magical areas that intentionally block that off."

"What about the fortuneteller? Did you find her?"

A fortuneteller?

Isa replied, "The fair is in Manila, at Luneta Park. She'll be there for the next three days but if she is the seer that she says she is she might already know you're coming. She said she didn’t want to get involved."

"She might have changed her mind."

"Who is this fortuneteller?" Harry asked.

When Hugo and Isa didn't answer, Spencer obliged, "She's a two bit con woman who sets up fortunetelling booths at Muggle fairs. A year ago we went to see her for fun. She told Hugo that the son of Death will come and unleash senseless violence into the world and that the only person who could end it was the boy she was talking to.”

XXXXXXXXXX

An hour ago, after Neville left Harry a message about finding the Snitch, he made his way back towards the Great Hall. Classes were to begin in fifteen minutes and he wanted to speak to the Headmistress about taking the rest of the day off to get the Snitch to Harry.

"Neville!"

A familiar voice called out and he walked over to his greenhouse.

"What are you doing here?"

"You found something in Professor Flitwick's chest."

"Yes, I did. Did Harry send you?" Neville asked excitedly.

"Not exactly. I'm so sorry Neville."

His entire body stiffened and he fell like a log to the ground. His pockets were emptied. Then there was another spell cast and he blacked out.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hermione and Ron about Hugo? I didn’t expect Ron to make that much sense or for that segment to be so long.

Any thoughts on what Hugo said to Harry? I was wondering as I was writing if Harry should have been more firm or less antagonistic.

The fortuneteller’s prediction – :lol: predictable :)

Someone asked about the past Hermione-Ginny conversation – it should come up in the next.

Haven't watched HBP yet. The thought of seeing Hermione becoming aware of her feelings for Ron is nauseating and the H-G kiss in the trailer is depressing enough. Is it as bad as I think it is?

48. A Not So Olive Branch

A/N. An all about the past chapter to fulfill some plot requirements. I didn’t think it would be this long but I went with the flow and this is where it took me.

Ginny-Hermione conversation as promised. Be gentle :)

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 48 – A Not So Olive Branch

January 2008

It is midnight when I get out of the Ministry. Seamus just called to say he was on his way home and had to see me right away. I miss him. He was away on a week-long trip to Moscow. I don't know the details but there was a Russian businessman who apparently saw Finnigan's and loved the concept of it so much that he wanted to bring it closer to home, paying Seamus to consult how to set it all up.

I'm glad he called. It gives me good reason to go home. With the Christmas holidays over work has ramped up but there has been so much turnover at Forensics we can't train and hire wizards and witches fast enough. The good news is with five years experience I am now a senior investigator and a team leader, with more cases under my belt than I thought I would have at this point. The bad news is until we replace the retired my team of five is a team of two, and that includes me. It's been crazy busy at work.

I don’t mind crazy busy. I love working and hence the reason for my skepticism about being bonded for life to someone. I figured I would die a happy spinster until the flirtation with Seamus turned out into something much more than mere flirtation. I fell hard for him and since both of us have one devout Catholic parent marriage was inevitable.

So far being married to each other is how we expected it would be. He is just like me when it comes to work and we recognize that about each other. Our hours are terrible. We work, work , work then when we get away we party hard (kind of). We have an understanding of what we want and we both have what we want, at least for now.

It is definitely not the kind of relationship my parents had and not what I know most couples strive for. I cannot imagine us in a house with the white picket fence, with 2.5 kids, everyone in pyjamas in bed and lights out at nine. We are in it for the intimate companionship and for the commitment to be partners. As for love; well I hope what I feel for him is IT. I can't pretend to know what true love is but how I feel when I am with him feels better than how I've felt with anyone else so it must be, and I love him until - I guess until I don't. I try not to get too hung up on that possibility. Life is too short and I figure I’ll cross the bridge if and when I get there.

I Apparate to the small magical village of Whimsy located east of London and walk the short distance from the Apparition point to where we live. It is completely dark out front so I conclude Seamus must not be home yet. I come in and I turn the lights on, thinking of a warm bath and of him eventually joining me, when I suddenly lose my footing. Thankfully I right myself in time to prevent a face plant.

“What in the...?”

I freeze. A red pool of thick liquid is on my foyer floor and I have to blink my eyes twice to confirm I'm not hallucinating what I've been seeing at work. Based on physical properties I am almost certain it's blood, likely human.

Fighting against instinct to touch it to confirm, I am also fully aware that I am daft to follow the trail of rouge specks. But it seems silly to call the infantry in unless it leads to a dead body, or at least a severely injured one. I do have the presence of mind to bring my wand and my phone, just in case.

I tip toe down the corridor to the back and as I turn the corner I trip over Seamus’ broom and other Quidditch gear. I cringe. So much for stealth. I love him dearly but Seamus is such a slob. I must really get on his case about putting his stuff away. I pause for a bit and as nothing seems to have moved in the house I continue on. I reach the stairs and hear voices on the second level. From the bottom step I can see that our guest room door is slightly ajar. Seamus is up there and he sounds panicked.

"You're going to die! And the baby!"

"Don't be so dramatic. She's not going to die," a woman with a foreign accent dismissed, "And don't waste your breath trying to convince her. She's, how do you say in English, thick-headed.”

"Maria, just go, I'll be all right," another woman's voice replied, weak but insistent, “You can't get the IMP involved.”

"Who says I'm involved? I’m just spending my shift break with an old amiga.”

"What about a Healer? Let me get a Healer," Seamus is suggesting as I make my way up the steps.

"Jessie will be here soon."

The woman knows me. Do I know her?

He answers, "I don't think this is something she can handle!"

The one called Maria retorts dryly, “I would lose it too if someone was bleeding all over my furniture.”

The other woman laughs and then reassures, "It’ll be fine, Seamus. It’ll stop bleeding."

"Yes it will, when you run out of blood, then you will really freak everyone out."

I finally get to the door and push it in. Three pairs of eyes are on me as my jaw drops. I see my distressed husband with blood on his hands, the ashen look on his face contrasting with the serene one belonging to the brown skinned foreigner leaning against the window frame. And on the bed is Hermione, a dark red stain is seeping through her robes just beneath her ribs on her left. She is as pale as a ghost.

"Hermione! Oh my God!"

I rush to her side and try to figure out where all the blood is coming from.

"Good,” Hermione greets me weakly, “You're finally here."

Seamus is in near tears as he shows me where the wound is.

"Help her, please!"

"What happened?"

"She was stabbed with an Exanguine-laced ice pick," explains Maria.

Exanguine is a rare, expensive poison that prevents blood clotting used by assassins to have someone experience slow death. There is no known antidote.

"Who...?"

"Not important," Hermione dismissed hastily. “How bad is it?”

She knows I've examined her already.

"Your spleen is severely injured! You're bleeding out!” I say with urgency and then I glare at Seamus and ask, “Why didn’t you take her to St. Mungo's?”

My husband is too confused to understand the question and it is the other woman who addresses it, "She doesn't want to go there."

"And you are?"

"Maria Ortega, IMP," she motions over to Hermione, "We worked together years ago, long before she decided to go back to the light and um... domesticate."

Her comment made Hermione chuckle. Yes, a domesticated Hermione was quite funny to imagine but this was not the time for jokes.

"Then you know this is a serious injury! Hex her with a restraining spell!"

"I've tried and sadly her wand work isn’t half as impaired as her judgment is," was the IMP's annoyingly unconcerned reply, “Not to worry. It will be much easier to get her to proper care when she passes out."

"You wouldn’t dare," Hermione threatens.

"You're a pussy not a tigre, Jean," Maria calls Hermione by her middle name, "So, Jessica, how did a smart girl like you end up with Finnigan?”

I ignore her jibe. Their nonchalance to the situation is is disturbing. I try to infuse a sense of urgency again.

"We can't wait for her to pass out! It might be too late!" Maria just looks at me blankly so I turn to Hermione, "This is just plain stupidity! Your spleen needs to be taken out!"

"Then take it out."

"I can’t do that!"

“But you’ve taken out dozens of spleens before,” Hermione argues.

“Off of dead beings!”

"Should be the same then."

Argh! Does she not comprehend the big difference?!

Seamus excuses himself and starts vomiting inside the guest bathroom. I take over pressing down on Hermione's wound, not because it helps but because it feels strange just to watch her bleed without doing something.

Hermione encourages me again, “You can do this.”

“I could kill you! And the baby! He’s still alive but the more blood you lose...!”

Her face lights up.

“I’m having a boy?”

“Yes, you’re having a boy," I confirm as she grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me down for a bone crushing hug. I’m thinking, first of all, I’m not a hug person, this is uncomfortable and secondly, my math is shoddy because it seems she is further along her pregnancy than I thought she was. But those weren't important. I repeat, "We have to get you to St. Mungo’s!”

Hermione is ecstatic, misty eyed. I don't think she heard that last part.

She turns to Maria and tells her, “I’m having a boy!”

"I heard," Maria replies, “Congratulations. First a girl and now a boy Your husband will be very happy.”

Hermione is still smiling, “I’m divorcing him.”

“Even better. If you ask me, after procreation, men are more trouble keeping than they're worth. Perhaps Warren will finally get over his little temper tantrum and actually talk to..."

“Enough chit-chat! This is serious!"

Maria rolls her eyes and defends herself, "I was merely trying to make conversation. We haven’t talked to each other in a while."

I tell her off, “Can you do that after she’s out of mortal danger?”

There is more retching coming from the guest bathroom.

Hermione tries to calm me down, “Relax, I’m not going to die. Just do what you have to do to make the bleeding stop. I’ll be fine and the baby will be fine too.”

I have to ask, “Why risk your life and your baby’s? Why not go to a Healer? Why me, really, and not some other quack in the Alley who could probably do it better than I ever would?”

“Because I know I can trust you.”

Hermione is looking at me, pleading but determined to get what she wants. She is certain I can pull this off. I don't know how she knows I'm not going to kill her but she is not going to let this go.

XXXXXXXXXX

It is quite late. I just put Rosie to bed and I'm feeling rather tired. Considering it has been only been two weeks since I was stupid enough to get stabbed by someone I trusted, I think I'm recovering okay. Jessie did a marvelous job fixing me up. It is quite unfortunate though that she now knows about my lie and has the burden of my secret.

Rasputin is an idiot. His continued experimentation to communicate with his family has caused so many mishaps and I’ve just about had it with his obsession with death portals. I still can’t believe he accidentally brought back Morpheus Gaunt’s spirit from the dead, let him possess a some crook’s mind and body for days and then have the nerve to get me to take care of his problem. I didn’t buy his ‘I didn’t know it was him’ nonsense for a moment.

I just feel sorry for Seamus, being at the wrong place at the wrong time. He paid more than he bargained for when he thought he was purchasing contraband alcoholic beverages from a long time supplier at a fraction of the market price. The Gaunt-possessed bootlegger recognized an opportunity to blindside me and cowardly used Seamus just like he used Dean. It took a lot out of me to send him back to hell.

The Russian Healer promised to be careful the next time. Unlike my immortality his is not optional but his past human existence was filled with so much regret that he wants to re-live it with his family and he cannot move on until he does. As much as I disagree with how he is using his ‘gift’ I do feel sorry for him that he considers it a curse. In a way, I see his point and do relate. I do not want immortality either. But after almost a hundred years of trying to perfect this portal, I can’t think that he will stop soon.

The bell rings. I’m not expecting anyone and least of all not the person I see at my doorstep. It is Ginny. I wonder what she wants. Maybe I should pretend I'm not home.

She rings the bell again, a bit more hurriedly.

I decide that I might as well have this conversation with her. I can't avoid it forever. I'll just do what I've planned to do; admit I am wrong and admit it with remorse. If I have to say I'm sorry I probably will and hopefully my apology will sound sincere. I swing the door open just as she is about to ring it again, prepared for almost anything.

Her eyes are unreadable but the hard line along her jaw betrays the disgust she is trying to hide.

"May I come in?" Ginny asks.

I don't really want her in my house but I did open the door. I'm hoping whatever it is she came for would be short and sweet. Stepping aside, I open the door as wide as I can to make room for the both of us. She walks in looking perfect, her green robes curving gently over her bulging belly, her red hair neatly tied back without a stray strand. She is about eight months on the way and I feel like a Raggedy Ann beside pregnant Barbie. Once in the sitting room I offer her a seat and a drink and she declines both as I figured she would.

"This is nice," she comments, feigning interest in the stuff around us.

I hate small talk, we both did. It just hit me then just how much I missed my friend, I missed the candidness, the openness to say just whatever and think out loud. It has been five years since we were that and I feel bad for losing it. Sadly things cannot go back to the way they were. I slept with her husband. I would never forgive me if I were her, especially now months later when I haven't apologized. I bite back my tears and cut through the chase before nostalgia hits me again. I blame the hormones.

"Why are you here, Gin?"

"You know."

Her eyes flit down to my belly. It is about the baby. She wants proof or some reassurance that it isn't Harry's. I expected this, that she was going to be the hardest sell, and I've practiced this in front of the mirror a few times.

"It's not Harry's."

"We both know it's not Ron's."

I bring my arms across my chest.

"It's not Harry's," I repeat.

"I saw Jessie today. No, she didn't tell me but she slipped and mentioned your accident in St.Petersburg. Why didn't you see a Healer?"

"None of your business."

"How did you convince my brother?" she is fishing, "He obviously wouldn't agree if he knew the truth."

"You should leave now."

"Tell him."

"The baby is not his. And even if it were what would telling him achieve? Do you want him to leave you?"

I figure a threat, as empty as it is, is in order but I'm not scaring her.

"He may or he may not. He needs to know the truth just like he needed to know the truth when you woke up from that coma years ago. You should have said something. You never learn. If you love him then you should fight for his love."

I don't need to fight for his love. It is mine. It’s just that who we are prevents us from being together. I didn't think Ginny would want to hear that so I tell her what she wants to hear.

"He loves you. He chose to stay with you. I've learned my lesson. If my baby were his, it won't change anything," I bring up some truths, "And it's not his."

Finally I frustrate her and she lets me have a taste of how she really feels about me, "Fine. Suit yourself. Play the martyr. Just don't change your mind and come asking for him again."

She leaves that vile insinuation hanging, obviously baiting me to correct her or to bite back. The thing is I was prepared for much worse. I was prepared for her to berate my character and quash my self-respect. This is nothing. When I don't respond she moves towards the door and pauses in front of me. Ginny looks into my eyes and for the first time I see pain mixed with anger and hatred in them.

In a purposely vindictive tone she tells me, "I knew about you and Harry when I asked you to be my maid of honour."

"What?"

"You heard me."

I feel as if my chest and my head are about to explode. Thoughts gush out all at the same time. I think of Harry, I think of what we both went through, I think of Ginny, in her perfect white wedding dress, all smiles, marrying Harry while knowing all along that I lost him by default. She knowingly stole our life away. And here I was feeling bad for her.

"Why are you telling me this now?"

"I want you to stop feeling sorry for me. I want to be fair," she replies now with calmness that I took as arrogance, "In case you were wondering, I told Harry that morning he ended things with you. Harry knows and he forgives me."

That hurt, because he knew and still he stayed with her and also because he didn’t tell me. I had the right to know and while I understand that he was protecting her all this time I don’t understand how he could forgive her so easily. All this was unexpected.

I glare at Ginny who stares back unruffled, daring me to say something. She is a piece of work. All this time she knew; all the opportunities to tell me and she didn’t and she is without remorse. If she wasn’t pregnant I would have...

“Get out!”

But she isn’t done. She wants to inflict more pain, to share hers no doubt and to see me lose it.

"I'm not sorry. Unlike you I didn't do anything wrong. We were already married when I found out about you and you gave your blessing."

"You're pathetic but I guess you have to think that so you can live with yourself," I hurl hurtful words back at her, "Well I'm not sorry about sleeping with him either."

That strips off some of her composure.

"Good! That makes us even!"

“No, no -" I shake my head as the rest of me trembles from anger, "We’re not nearly even! You have no fucking idea what it was like losing him and watching you take him away!”

“Oh, yes I do! He was mine first and twice you did the same to me!”

"Check your facts! I didn't take him from you! Both times your husband came to me!"

I can feel hot tears falling down my face. I can feel the burning sensation of wrath coursing through my veins. I can feel the evil side in me about to take over. I recognize it for I felt it once before. I must make her leave before I do something I will regret. With a wave of my hand the front door swings wide open.

“Get out of my house! Get out of my house now!”

She is wise to listen! The door slams shut the second she steps out! I hear her Disapparate. Anger, frustration, revenge fills every part of me! I want to hurt her so badly! I want her to go through what I went through! I want to take her baby away, then Harry, then whatever else she has left after! Then she'll know exactly how it was like and we can be even!

She wants me to tell him?! I'll call her bluff! I'll tell him! I grab my phone and forcibly enter Harry's number in! It's ringing!

"Hey," he answers.

The sound of his voice slows down the turmoil within me. Our future flashes before my eyes and extinguishes all my vindictiveness for the wife he has decided to give another chance. This despicable taste, this rage, it is poison. Destroying Ginny's life will destroy his and destroying his will destroy our children's and what's left of mine. I realize that as satisfying and sweet revenge will be I will be sending all of us to hell.

My one hand is on the bulge on my belly and I am back in control of my emotions. Yes, Ginny is a bitch. I no longer feel inferior to her or harbour any guilt about the affair but I will not sink down to her level. It isn't about her or about me. It's about Harry and the children. I choke back what I wanted to say.

"Hey," I reply, trying to be casual but he senses the edge in my voice.

"What's wrong?"

I’m hurt enough that I think about not telling him but I have to get this out of my system. I have to hear his side of things.

"Ginny was just here..."

"I'm coming over," he's worried.

"It's okay,” I don’t want him to come, I don’t want to see him, I don’t want to see him explain why he forgave her so easily, “We just talked. She told me that she knew about us for a while."

"Let me come over," he becomes more worried.

"No, really. She's fine. I lost it for a bit but she left in one piece," I chuckle at my little joke, hoping it wouldn't sound as serious as it was.

He didn't find it funny, "Hermione..."

"It's fine. She's fine. I hate her, I've lost all respect for her and I almost killed her but she's fine."

"And you?"

"I'm not fine but I'm getting there," I tell him.

He appears at my doorstep despite my telling him not to come. I complain that his listening to me has always been optional.

We talk some more. He listens as I vent my frustration. I still can't believe she did that. I tell him what I almost did to her and he shares what happened between them that morning they ended up in St. Mungo's, how sorry Ginny was and how he came to decide to give them another chance. Thankfully he doesn't try to defend Ginny too much because I would have lost it again had he done that.

As he is telling me I want to tell him Ginny isn't as remorseful as he believes her to be but I am somewhat biased against her and I have a lot to gain if he leaves her. Before today as an outsider I saw the improvement in how they are with each other but after her visit it is more painful to watch him with Ginny now. It was hard before but it is harder to see someone you care about with someone so undeserving.

Had things not been complicated between us and if only things were exactly as they were before I would not hesitate to bring the point up. In the end, him being here, I lost my nerve to ask him why he forgave her so easily. Whatever his reason was it wouldn’t make me feel better, potentially make me feel worse and it wouldn’t change anything. The fact is he forgives her and I cannot tell him not to.

Maybe it is cowardice that I don’t want to hear his answer, maybe it's my attempt at trying to stay out of his and his wife’s business or maybe a part of me wants him to be burned by his decision to forgive her for what she did to us. He is so invested in his marriage and his family and though I am angry I can't tell him his wife could be toying with him. I figure that he made his own bed and he needs to sleep in it; her sincerity is something he will have to sort out for himself. For his sake I hope I am wrong about Ginny and he is right.

XXXXXXXXXX

May 2010

Hugo turned two a month ago but today is his official birthday. We are at the London Ministry Atrium for festivities. It is coincidentally the 12th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts and about a thousand beings have gathered here beside the recently completed fountain centrepiece to mark the day Voldemort’s reign of terror ended.

It seemed like a good idea at the time to make Hugo's fake birthday be on such a memorable day and while I am not so sure about that anymore it’s too late to change it. I gaze down. The proceedings have worn him out and he has fallen asleep in my arms. His sister is sitting on her Dad’s lap, wide-eyed, listening attentively to everything. Ron gives me a warm smile. I smile back. He has been the best ex-husband anyone could ever hope for.

Time really flies. I can't believe it has been this long since Voldemort. I had mixed feelings about attending today but I think it is important for Rosie and Hugo to be a part of this and to remember when we are no longer here to do so. I owe it to those who sacrificed their lives years ago.

Kingsley does a speech, as does some of the magical being leaders. Post Voldemort and under Kingsley's leadership we have made some progress in being rights but we have a long way to go. Jurnuk the Goblin is a warrior and has been battling some members of the Wizengamot who are dead-set against the push for being equality. It was good to see Grawp, Hagrid's brother, coming into his own as spokesperson for giants and I was in tears from pride when Winky took the stand and shared what it has been like for her since Dobby died and how the new laws on elfin rights and organizations like the OFE have been instrumental in getting her to where she is now.

Winky is an entepreneur. She owns a company that offers services on anything that has to do with homemaking, from house cleaning, to cooking, to gardening, to repairing, to designing. While her employees are mostly free elves she has opened up work opportunities for other magical beings. She is no longer the distraught Winky, the drunk who thought her life was over after she was given clothes. She has a new sense of purpose to help her fellow beings, she says, inspired by her friend Dobby. I am just so happy for her.

Harry is introduced as the next speaker. I heard he was going to talk today and that surprised me considering he has declined to do this year after year. I wonder what made him change his mind. He looks well. I see he has brought his entire family here too. Al, four, sitting on a seat beside his dad's, his bright eyes following his father to the stage while his older brother James is mischievously tickling the back of his ear. James gets a reprimand from his grandmother Molly who has two year old, Lily, on her lap. And Ginny of course. She hasn’t said a word to me since coming to the hospital to confirm her suspicion and telling me to tell Harry about Hugo. Ginny is respecting my wishes and has kept her word about staying out of my and Harry's business, probably for her own good.

Save for Christmas Eve dinners at the Burrow I've managed to stay clear of the Potters for the past two years. In August 2008, after turning over my remaining projects to a capable replacement, I left Kingsley’s staff to work with Brian Figg at the Organization of Free Elves. In a span of about a year and a half, we have established charters in six major cities and ten magical towns. We have also been in talks with the Brotherhood of Goblins and the Giant community leaders to look into customizing the OFE programs for their needs.

My thinking about my life and where I stand vis-a-vis Harry changed dramatically once I had Hugo. I think it is with both pride and fear that I am staying away from him. Pride because each day I stay away I prove to myself that I can have a life without him and fear that if I am around him long enough I'll lose my resolve and tell him about Hugo. All I want is for Hugo to have a happy childhood. I believe in my heart that what I’m doing is best for my son.

The crowd has gone silent. Everyone is watching Harry and he scans the audience. He sees me a few rows down and holds my gaze for a second before folding up the parchment he had intended to read from and puts that in his robes pocket. He’s going to wing it. This is going to be interesting.

He speaks clearly, “As Kingsley, Jurnuk, Grawp and Winky were speaking I looked at your happy and satisfied faces. It is great to see progress and we are here to celebrate the gains we made. We should celebrate the gains that we made.

“But it is so easy in moments like today to sit back, pat ourselves on the back and be lulled into complacency. So I would like to take a moment to remind us all that there is still so much work to be done.

“The enemy remains, lurking within the shadows of our contentment and ready to pounce on every opportunity it sees. How quickly we forget that the fight against Voldemort was not only a fight against evil but one against prejudice, bigotry, discrimination and intolerance.

"Last week two free elves were refused service in a restaurant in Diagon Alley citing the restaurant had a wizard and witch only policy. Two days after, a similar incident in Glasgow involving a Muggleborn was in the news. And we all heard about the goblin who is currently on trial for disarming a wizard after being maliciously hexed and using the wand on its owner."

Harry waved his wand and a white tarp materialized in our midst. Slowly, one by one, images of those who suffered and died fighting against Voldemort and the Death Eaters passed across the screen, ordinary lives interrupted by something so senseless; James and Lily Potter, Professor Dumbledore and his brother Aberforth, Sirius and Regulus Black, Cedric Diggory, Fred Weasley, Colin Creevey, Professor Lupin, Ted and Nymphadora Tonks, Dobby, Hedwig, Professor Snape, Professor Moody, the Longbottoms, the Prewetts, the Weasleys, the Bones, the Abbotts, followed by countless other wizarding families who fought against Voldemort. Then amongst the collage I see my parents, unknown to most people in the room but they are up there on the screen too. There are so many more pictures that follow but my eyes can’t see through the tears anymore. I don’t have to look around to know that there is not one being in the room who isn’t crying. Even Harry is.

“I want you to look at all these faces, remember their lives, remember their sacrifice, remember them because if not for them we will not live the way we live right now. It has been years since most of them were last with us. Let us not do them a disservice by letting our memories of them fade away. Let us not forget what they suffered for. Let us not forget and stay the course.”

Harry is finished with his speech but his message hangs in the air. In all this time Hugo has woken up and begins clapping his tiny hands, breaking the silence. Others follow suit and in time everyone is on their feet and the Atrium is filled with applause. Ron sees me struggling and takes Hugo from my arms as I try to compose myself.

The ovation eventually dies down and after Kingsley's dedication of the Fountain of Hope to the heroes of the war he invites everybody to the event reception. Ron has gone on with Rosie to the Great Hall and as I am getting Hugo ready I feel a familiar touch on the small of my back.

"Hey."

I turn. It is Harry.

"Hey."

"Where's Ron?"

I motion over to the buffet tables and joke, "Merlin forbid he's not first in line."

He laughs then notices who I'm with.

"Hey, Hughie."

I hate it when people call him that but somehow I don’t mind so much when Harry does it.

"Say, hi."

Hugo waves his hand.

"May I?"

He lifts Hugo up before I can even answer.

"Wow, you’ve grown. I hope you’re not giving your Mum trouble."

"No he hasn’t. He’s a sweet kid."

Harry frowns and quips, "Somehow I can’t picture either you or Ron as being sweet kids. Must have skipped a generation or two."

I feign being insulted but he laughs that I can't keep a straight face.

Hugo finds the parchment from his pocket and is playing with it. Harry let him.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Okay. And you?”

“I’m fine.”

I have to tell him, and it takes a lot not to cry again as I do, “That, what you just said up there, and my parents, thank you.”

He shrugs, “No. Thank you. It was long overdue.”

“You should have warned me you were going to do that.”

“Sorry. It was kind of last minute,” Harry looks past me and smiles and waves at Kingsley’s speech writer who is not too happy. He says through his teeth, “I’m sure I’m going to hear about it from Kingsley. I was told to be more upbeat.”

He transfigures the parchment into a toy airplane and charms it for Hugo’s entertainment.

“It was perfect,” I assured him.

“Thanks. But that should teach them not to make me do something like this again.”

The toy airplane zooms between us and I follow it with my eyes.

“Or not trust you to read a speech off a parchment.”

"Well, it definitely had a lot of hot air in it. Makes a good airplane."

We have a chuckle and soon the Minister is beside us.

“Just the two people I wanted to speak with,” Kingsley announced and upon noticing Hugo in Harry’s arms added, “The little man can join us too.”

I notice Harry’s discomfort as Kingsley says to me, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the OFE. Brian says only wonderful things about you. He mentioned that things have settled down and that you aren’t as busy as you were before.”

Kingsley knows that I have quite a lot on my plate but he wants something from me, “Let’s cut to the chase, Minister. What is it that you want me to do?”

The Minister rolls his eyes, “Hermione, you spoil all my fun.”

He pauses and looks around. I feel an Impertubatus sphere come around us and Kingsley begins to speak.

"I need you back here, in London."

"Why?"

"To help me fight politics."

"That’s hardly an attractive recruitment incentive,” I comment.

Kingsley laughs, “You did say to cut to the chase.”

“What's going on?"

The Minister explains. He needs someone who knows the magical law system very well, someone he can trust. As Harry alluded to, many are going back to the old ways, particularly within the Ministry and the opposition, sensing waning support for Kingsley, is eating away at the gains of past years, most notably the changes in laws regarding rights and equality.

"The deputy head MLE spot is currently open. You'll need to apply for the job and go through the selection committee," Kingsley is annoyed that he is not as free to create and fill positions without Wizengamot approval anymore. "I'll be honest. Some of what I'm asking you to do isn't part of the Deputy's job.”

“Let me get this straight,” I summarize, “You want me back to play politics and not get paid doing it?"

“Precisely.”

I hesitate, thinking of what excuse to give Kingsley, “You know it’s not the money or the work.”

"Harry," Kingsley prompts him.

He looks at me. He wants me to do it but senses my lack of eagerness and understands. When I told him I had taken the OFE job he didn’t ask any questions. He leaves it up to me.

"It's your call."

Kingsley is not pleased at Harry’s lukewarm persuasion and tells me to take a week to decide. The rest of the day I think of who else can be the Minister's eyes and ears in the MLE and do a good job of it. I really think I can help without necessarily being at the London Ministry. Really, I don't want to change my life again, not if it means complicating things.

Then I have an odd conversation with Ginny at the Burrow during Hugo's birthday party later that afternoon. I am watching the kids play games in the backyard when she walks up beside me and starts talking.

"You should take the MLE job."

Odd first words considering we haven't spoken since the day Hugo was born. Over the past two years I’ve taken a less unkind view of her. I pity her that she did what did to be with the man she loved. I could certainly relate to crossing lines I never thought I could to be with mine. And even though she never said she was sorry I think she is paying dearly for the mistake she made.

On some twisted level, I forgive her even though she hasn’t asked for forgiveness. All that anger was just difficult to live with and I had to let it go. But I haven’t forgotten what she made me go through and her abrupt out-of-the-blue meddling annoys me.

"I don't recall asking you for advice."

"They need you," she presses on.

Somehow, the more she pushes for it the less I am inclined to accept. Why she thinks telling me to take the job on her say-so will make me take the job is befuddling.

"I'm not indispensible. They can find someone else."

I take a few steps away hoping she will go away but she is persistent.

"Harry needs you. You're indispensible to him."

I lose patience with her mind games and without raising my voice say to her, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"It means he needs his best friend to help him continue what he was talking about today. He needs someone to watch his back," she answers still without emotion, "And you still need to tell him about his son."

I am speechless. Who does she think she is? I don’t want to get into a shouting match with her in front of family and not during my son’s birthday party. Maybe this is what she is counting on.

She continues, "Don't think for a moment that it is easy for me to talk you into coming back and I know that while you don't care that it isn't easy you care about him and you care about Kingsley’s Ministry.”

“I already have a job that I care about.”

I move once again. She follows me and makes a more earnest attempt to make me listen.

“Look, I know why you don't want to come back. I understand. Pride is a bitter pill to swallow. I'm just saying that if you care about him and about equal rights a fraction of how much you lead him to believe then you will do this."

I finally look straight at her, trying to figure out where the knife will come from and when. Or maybe this will be the knife; swallowing my pride every day for a front row seat to the life I wanted for myself knowing that I will never have it. Thanks but no thanks.

"I don't have to prove anything, especially not to you," I tell her.

What she says next is something I don't expect.

“Why do you think it took twelve years for him to finally talk to that crowd? He sees it happening, he feels that it is slipping away and he senses the urgency,” she confirms what I suspect, “You’re the best person for the job. Everybody knows that. He wants you to take it but he doesn't have the heart to ask it of you. So I'm asking for him."

“You don’t know that.”

“Please, give me the benefit of at least knowing him as well as you do.”

"Does he know you're doing this?"

Ginny is amused by my question, "Do you think if he did he'd let me?"

"What if it happens again?" I challenge her.

"I trust you," she answers like she means it.

"That's just stupid,” I tell her frankly, “You shouldn't."

"Okay," she pauses for a moment then says to me, "I trust him. He came back to me once before so I wouldn't keep my hopes up if I were you."

As she says this I don't detect a hint of malice. She knows how things stand and like me she is calling it as it is. I ask myself why she’s doing this. What could she possibly gain by having me come back to work with Harry? She guesses my confusion.

"I’m doing this because this has nothing to do with what happened, because this is more important. And don't you think it's about time we moved on?"

"I am moving on.”

“So stop running away,” she chastises my behaviour with frankness that I’ve always known her to have, “Not everything is about you and Harry. Do what you know is right.”

She has made her points and is about to go back to the house but not before one last parting shot, “You do know we will never be friends again."

I answer, "I'm glad we're clear about that"

Later on that night, I lie in bed thinking about Kingsley's proposal and Ginny's not so olive branch. What Ginny said was spot on. This has nothing to do with what happened, not everything is about me and Harry and there are things that are above us. I have to do this to live with myself.

Coming back could complicate matters. I still feel very strongly about not having Hugo grow up as Harry’s illegitimate child. I am sticking with my plan to wait, to tell Hugo and his father once I think he is old enough to understand what it means and strong enough to endure what is to come. And when that time comes I plan not to be needed at the Ministry because nothing, not even this, is above my children. Nothing is above my son.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Two conversations for the price of one.

Harry and Hugo and more of the present next.

49. The POTH

A/N. My apologies for the long wait. Thank you for your patience. Won't bother with excuses - I could take all day.

Much of the following is informative to help tie in what's been happening - I've confused all of us long enough! More on POTH, Malvado and the Hermione imposter. And in the end, Hugo-Harry. (No fortune teller yet - that'll be for the next scene.)

I've injected a couple more non-English words into the story. Pronounciations are generally phonetic and meanings if you're interested -

Hiwaga - mysterious, mystical.

Pag-asa – hope

Kapalaran – fate, destiny

Manananggal, maranhig and kapre are actual mythical figures and were in many scary stories I heard as a young girl.

By the way, the first part of the Portkey Forums Spotlight interview came out weeks ago. I had fun answering the questions - some of them were really difficult. For those who are interested - check it out (link below); for those who aren't - ignore the shameless plug.

This is long...

***

STAFF ANNOUNCEMENT:

We’d like to thank those of you who’ve contributed questions for BB Ruth’s interview here. Please log in Portkey’s forums to read it. J We’ve updated it yesterday.

Thanks too to BB Ruth for being ever so accommodating.

- PK Spotlight project staff

***

XXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 49 – The POTH

Flavius Belcher was on his way to work. His magically enhanced Muggle bicycle weaved in and out of London traffic at a hundred kilometers per hour, easily avoiding cars, buses and pedestrians. He ran a red light and almost got clipped by a Muggle bus from behind but that was nothing. Flavius was used to near crashes and minor brushes with accidents. His transport was equipped with very reliable automatic steering and anti-collision devices, so reliable that for five years his bicycle got him safely to and from work.

Five minutes out from the Ministry his ride suddenly veered off the pre-determined path.

"Smoking dragons..." he muttered moments before he crashed into a lamppost, "Aaaaah..."

He screamed as the impact sent him flying off the bicycle seat and into the air. Ill prepared for the malfunction he had no means of protecting himself. His wand was burried in his rucksack and all he could do was scream some more and brace himself for impact

"...Ahhhhh...ah?"

The impact never came. He opened his eyes in time to see that he was hovering inches from the rocky ground and then softly landed on his belly.

"Are you okay?" a man with a wand approached and asked.

"Yes, kind sir," Flavius replied exuberantly, picking himself up, "Thank you so much for your intervention."

Odd, the stranger laughed lightly and then answered, "I don't think you should be thanking me. I'm sorry but it's kind of an emergency. This isn't personal."

It was only then when he noticed that the wizard's wand was pointed at him. Flavius' facial expression turned from relief to utter confusion to complete understanding. He went over to where his bicycle was, repaired it, and, after a Geminio spell, drove one back home.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ron was still reeling from being dropped down an elevator shaft by some freak impersonating Hermione. His timely cushioning charm was the only reason he was still in one piece and he was pissed off by the fact that he had no idea what was going on. The Ministry Mediwizard had just cleared him when he was ordered to come into the 2nd level main Auror interrogation room.

What he was subjected once he got there was unreal. The past twenty minutes have been an ultimate test of patience and this is counting his experience dealing with a hormonal teenage daughter.

Trussell was red in the face, as angry as he was, their conversation getting nowhere.

"I am asking you one simple question! Did you or did you not assist Ms. Granger's escape?!"

Ron was long past his limits. He had it with Trussel's impertinent interrogation.

"First of all, I wasn't informed that her dead body was under some sort of house arrest! And secondly, how stupid can you be?! She cursed me, disarmed me, turned me into a human shield, and sent me down an elevator shaft! What about that says I helped her escape?"

"She talked to you. What did she say?" Ex Head Auror Humptail was in the room with Trussell, his role in the investigation still unclear to Ron.

He held no punches, "She said not to trust anyone. I think she meant you and you and she's usually right."

"Careful Weasley," Humptail threatened, glaring at him, trying to save face as other Aurors and MLE were watching from behind the window in front of him, "You do know you are talking to a superior."

"Sorry. I couldn't tell you were a superior from how this investigation is going," Ron returned his glare, "Can I have my wand back and do some work now?"

"That’s it. Arrest him," Humptail ordered.

"What?!" Ron exclaimed incredulously.

"What?" Trussell, looking very confused, said the same thing almost at the same time.

Humptail wasn’t too pleased with Trussell’s hesitation. He took out his wand and pointed it at Ron.

"Incarcerous!"

Metal restraints wrapped around his wrists and ankles before he could avoid the hex.

"What the fuck...?!”

“Merlin...” Trussell stammered, unsure about it's necessity.

Ron was livid, the chains clattering against each other as he pulled on them, his voice breaking as he yelled at Humptail, “On what grounds are you arresting me?!"

"For starters, disrespecting a superior, section 17.5.6 of the 2012 revised MLE code of conduct, which coincidentally your ex-wife authored."

"Rubbish! She'd know better than writing something like that! Half the department would be cited if that were fact, including her!"

Humptail ignored his logical retort, "By refusing to cooperate with our questioning you are also impeding an active investigation, obstructing justice and aiding the escape of Ms. Granger."

"I am cooperating! It's not my fault you gits don't like my answers!"

"And lastly, undermining the Office of the Minister?"

"You've got to be kidding me!?"

"Potter obviously has information that is vital to the Borgin and Burkes murders that he hasn't shared,” Ron was shocked at his knowledge, “You are helping him hide information vital to national security and to the protection of the Office of the Minister. That is treason."

"You are out of your mind!” Ron screamed at him, “You washed up asshole! You were dismissed for good reason and now you're trying to slither your way back into office! On whose authority are you making this arrest!”

“On the Minister of Magic’s,” Humptail smiled taunting him.

Humptail then turned his back and made his way to the exit followed closely by a flabbergasted Trussell.

“Come back here! I want legal! I want my one owl! Harry Potter is still the Head Auror!”

Humptail and Trussell ignored him, making him angry even more. Several Interior Affairs MLE filed into the room as Humptail opened the door and the former Head Auror barked out orders.

“Put him in lock-up, no visitors, no owls, and no phone calls until I say so. Then gather up the rest of Potter's spies and lock them up too. Anyone caught fraternizing with them or sympathizing with Potter gets the same VIP treatment.”

"Isn't that illegal?" Trussell wondered out loud.

"Auror emergency powers are legal during perceived threats to the Office of Minister and to national security, at least until the Wizengamot convenes and decides otherwise."

"What about Harry?"

Ron overheard them. He racked his brains for ideas on how to get word to Harry overseas. But before he could come up with something, more people came into the interrogation room. Crap. Triple crap. It was the Ministry Legilimiens team.

XXXXXXXXXX

After escaping from a London Ministry freezer and eluding British law enforcement, disguised IMP Maria Ortega Portkeyed out of Great Britain and transported back to a town in the province of Kapalaran in the Philippines, a country of seven thousand islands and about one hundred million Muggles, non-Muggles and beings. She made a few rounds through the crowded market area then, after diligently assuring nobody followed her, found a secluded nook and morphed into her preferred appearance. She completely blended in with the local folk. Though she had not lived here in decades she was born in Hiwaga some seventy-five years ago.

Despite her real age she did not look a day over thirty, a perk of being what she was. She hailed a jeepney, a four wheeled Muggle mode of public transportation, and hopped on with the twenty others already on board. While there were quicker and more comfortable means to get to her ultimate destination, Malvado's men and his Muggle spies were always watching and monitoring unusual magical activity. Apparating would be risking detection and compromising the safety of others. An hour into the bumpy ride she asked to be dropped off halfway down a stretch of unpaved road coursing between two heavily forested mountains.

A couple of passengers, older folk, glanced at her through the billowing dust as the jeepney rolled away. She’d have to let the others know that the more sensitive Muggle folk were beginning to sense them in the area and that unless they neutralized Malvado soon a move would be most wise.

The jeepney disappeared at the bend up ahead. She walked down a short path that curved around the largest weeping willow tree. Now hidden from the main road and under forest cover, she looked to her right, to her left and behind, then scanned the area for magical presence. Detecting the expected, she gazed up the willow, her eyes settling on the portion where the branches were thickest. There she made out the long limbs and piercing orbs of the crouched tree-dwelling, tobacco-smoking giant, Kapre Tonyo, the assigned lookout that afternoon. She nodded slightly in greeting and it was returned in kind.

There was no one around but her and the kapre so she took out her wand, tapped on the bark of the weeping willow and muttered an incantation. A big breath in later she was walking straight into the wide tree trunk without hesitation. In an instant, she was completely immersed in green Revelato potion, stripping off the unnatural portions of her body and propelling her down a slippery, body-hugging chute. During the five-second slide she felt the tightening grip of the wards around her, confirming her biological identity before releasing her in one dry piece to the other side.

She exhaled quickly then inhaled the same time she morphed back to her younger and more anatomically complete version. She hated the journey in every time but the security was necessary. Standing in the midst of the arrival pit the guards above gave her a long stare and then cleared her.

Maria did not use the steps. Walking was a waste of time compared to flying. When she got to the top the sight before her impressed as it did every time she came here. She still couldn't believe that such a place could exist and stay hidden for so long.

The Being village of Pag-asa, eighteen months old and counting, was just like any magical village except for the fact that very few knew of its existence. It was relatively quiet that afternoon. Many of the residents were nocturnal beings and were likely sleeping inside their wooden dwellings that intermittently interrupted the blanket of trees and plants on the face of the earthy slope. They numbered around two hundred here, families of beings of all sorts from different parts of Kapalaran and of the neighboring provinces, from vampires to werewolves to elves to kapres (tree-dwelling giants) to half-breeds and other human-like creatures like her. Pag-asa was a refugee camp for those who were on the Malvado destruction list, rewarded for their refusal to pledge allegiance to the dark wizard.

Maria had been in the region for three weeks on an unofficial capacity. The IMP had already lost many against Malvado that it was a strategic decision not to send anyone else in and the reason why they contracted out the project to Warren and others. When Warren's team was exposed and Warren went off the grid, she was one of those sent to bring him in but Warren could not trust anyone from the IMP. It was Jean who succeeded where no one else could. It was also Jean who convinced him to ask her for help when it was clear they couldn't do it on their own.

Malvado was a dark wizard like no other. Having already attempted to take Malvado out many times and failed, she joined Warren and infiltrated his gang to find out why he was invincible and how to terminate him. They had nothing, except for his claim about being a half-breed, the son of Death, something they had no way of proving or disproving. To the local beings he was a maranhig, an immortal who will only die if he chooses to pass his immortality to someone else who would willingly receive the 'gift' - not happening in Malvado's case.

His sudden interest in the Peverell Hallows was curious too, which she thought mysteriously coincided with Jean's renewed presence in the area. It had been years since the Mistress of Death was in these parts and Jean had been meticulous about keeping her true identity a secret then. Many beings here still remember her and her deeds and hold her in high regard. That night, meeting with the Being Council of Elders as the Mistress of Death although she no longer was, was a very bad idea, even if it was to convince them to help fight the Malvados.

Maria headed for her hut near the top of the hill and removed the protective wards she had around it. In the privacy of her room she morphed off the fabricated half of her body, floating in the air as the closet opened. Out came trotting her real lower half in a checkered wrap around skirt, her two parts meeting halfway and combining seamlessly.

She gave her toes a quick wiggle, relieved that they responded immediately. Three days was the longest her halves had been apart and the Healer who fixed her up then strongly advised against prolonged natural separation. Anything longer than twenty four hours could make the separation permanent and eventually kill her. She had good reason to be pissed at Warren for not rescuing her from the Ministry morgue sooner.

As human as she looked in most countries including here she would be classified as a being without rights even with her reasonable wand skills so she chose to live as a witch. Maria came from generations of the manananggal, beings unique to this part of the world who possess the ability to divide their bodies at the waist. Inherently predatory and difficult to kill like vampires, the manananggal's aerodynamic and resilient upper half was meant to hunt for prey while their weaker lower half was left somewhere safely hidden and far away from danger. Although she hated being called what she was, it was this being trait and her acquired biomorphic talent that made her special and perfect for IMP mercenary work before that program was scrapped in favour of more acceptable methods. Substituting for Jean during the attack, while last minute, was a no-brainer.

"Maria!"

A woman called out to her as she stepped out onto her porch. They spoke in the vernacular.

"Thank God you're all right," Gracie said as she approached her.

"Did Jean make it?" Maria asked to the point, hungry for news.

"She's...um...alive," the vampire replied tentatively, then, sensing that she was about to go on a tirade, headed her off, "Look I know you're upset. It's..."

"Upset? I just spent two days in a fridge. Why would I be upset about that?" she retorted with sarcasm, not hiding her ire, "Him, I can understand not caring but I would have thought you would do something!"

"Things got complicated and busy," was Gracie's lame excuse.

"Do I look like I care? He was supposed to replace me with a permanent corpse after forensics was done with me. What if I was too damaged to regain consciousness?" Maria couldn't contain herself and then asked, looking at the dwelling a couple of huts over, "Where is she? Where is he?"

"She's, um...not here and he um...went to make a delivery."

"I want to talk to him, now," Maria demanded.

As Gracie sent Warren a coded message through one of those hard-to-figure-out antiquated Muggle hand-held radios, she scanned the rest of the village. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of two Caucasian human-smelling teenagers in the clearing who appeared to be teaching wand use to several younger beings. The more she looked at them the more familiar their features became and the first thought that came to her as she finally recognized them was that Jean would never have allowed this. She turned to Gracie who was already sporting this guilty and anxious look on her face.

Maria said to her in a chastising tone, "Tell me they’re not who I think they are."

XXXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile, inside the Minister of Magic's Office, Deputy Head Auror Hank Trussell was debriefing Minister Jericho about the breach.

"What are you saying?" the Minister asked.

"I'm saying that Hermione Granger has risen from the dead," Hank replied.

"Are you certain?" the DOM Head Max queried.

"I fought her myself," Hank countered boastfully, although Leo doubted that very much.

"So why did she leave? It doesn't make sense that she didn't stay to talk," the Minister said to himself.

"Who cares if she doesn't want to talk?! It makes less sense that she's alive after almost three days in an ice box," Ex-Head Auror Hector Humptail pointed out.

The Minister had brought in the retired wizard to consult on the Malvado case and already he was regretting his decision. There was something unsettling about the ex-Auror's tone, like he was taking over. His departure from office had been unpleasant and Hector had always blamed Hermione and, to some extent, Harry for his early retirement

Hector added, "But then again we shouldn't be surprised. She was lured by the Dark Arts before. This only means that she is in fact working with Gates and Malvado."

"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," Leo couldn't believe what Hector was saying, "It was Malvado who killed her, or tried to anyway."

"Or so we are all being made to believe," it was Hector again, "What if it was all a ruse? Think about it. With her death and resurrection your Head Auror has all but abandoned his post, her ex-husband has, I suspect and will soon prove, aided and abetted in her escape, your constituents are confused, and she is on the brink of turning into some legendary deity. In the meantime our forces are scattered and our defences are considerably weakened. Dark wizards and witches have already taken advantage of our misguided priorities. Even if she isn't working with Malvado, she might as well be for she is causing exactly what Malvado wants, chaos in your Ministry and in your country. It shows your weakness, exposing to the people so they will clamour for change..."

"Enough!"

"Leo, I'm just saying, the robberies, the murders, Malvado, people are more likely to blame you for mishandling that more than they will Potter, unless you do something about it."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Take charge of your Ministry and that includes the Auror department," Hector encouraged. "Tell the people the truth; that Granger has gone off on her own and that Potter abuses his power, that he has been using Ministry resources, using his position, to advance personal agendas. The Auror office is not his private army."

As if on cue Trussell handed him official Ministry documents - terminations, transfers, and appointments. The very first one was the sacking of Harry Potter.

He hesitated. He needed Harry to get Malvado off his back but at the same time he couldn't be Minister for much longer if Harry remained the Head Auror. This moment was an opportunity, one that would discredit him and, with his hands full with Malvado, he wouldn't be able to fight it. If the Minister waited until the dust settled he would likely be too late.

As for Hermione he didn't care much about her then so he didn't care now. He was fighting for political survival. Sensing his lack of decisiveness, the wizard he trusted most in the room spoke up.

"I caution against this. Are you certain you have your bases covered?"

"You're either on our side or Harry's side," Hank challenged Max, "Pick a team."

Max wasn't ruffled, "I am on my side which is the Minister's side. I'm just pointing out that Potter is popular not only with the public but also with his men and the Wizengamot. I trust that you two can handle the Aurors and MLE. But we all know that it is the Wizengamot that determines who sits in this office. A misstep will cost you your job and all of us our jobs. Do you think it is a good time to re-tool the MLE and Auror office now when there are murders to be solved and Malvado is on the loose?"

"The Malvado problem is not here but halfway across the world," Hank clarified, "And Harry is using our limited resources to chase the guy down because of some personal vendetta. It is clear that his judgment is severely impaired."

"But will the Wizengamot buy it?"

Hector responded, "It is the truth. Why wouldn't they?"

Having heard the arguments and with not much choice, Leo magically signed the documents revamping the MLE and the Auror office effective immediately. He summoned his assistant, told her to get in touch with the Supreme Mugwump and to set up a meeting as soon as possible.

Then he turned to his new Head Auror Trussell and ordered, "The Wizengamot will convene tomorrow. I want a sense of normalcy by then. Institute the changes to the Auror ranks immediately and as quietly as possible. I don't want any trouble from his men."

"There won't be trouble. Dissenters will be terminated and if necessary, incarcerated," Hank reassured him with confidence, "And don't worry about the press. They know to print the truth."

"Good. Good."

In the back of his mind Leo wondered what Malvado would think of this move. He hoped the dark wizard wouldn't see it for what it was or that he would be too busy tracking down the Peverell cloak to notice.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry shifted the blinds slightly and looked out the window. From twenty stories up he watched the tiny dots of people filing into the fair grounds on Luneta Park across the street. They were in the Phillipine metropolitan city of Manila, checked into a local Muggle hotel after finding out that the fortune-teller wasn't in until nine that night.

It was just as well. They both needed a rest. Hugo was on one of the double beds fast asleep. It was half past seven local time and the travelling to and from Britain and Canada had finally caught up with the teenager.

Refreshed from a three hour nap himself, he Impertubed himself a corner and got in touch with Ted.

"How is she?" he enquired.

"The same," his godson replied.

It was a letdown. He was hoping Ted would have better news. Already he was questioning the sanity of not taking her to St. Mungo's right away but he had acquired some of Warren's paranoia and he couldn't leave her at the hospital unless he could be there.

He contemplated how long they were supposed to wait and then a horrible thought crossed his mind. What if she never woke up? What if not taking her to a Healer now was making her worse?

Harry was so tempted to go back to London. The truth of the matter was he was sceptical that this fortune-teller or the information that Hugo's friend had given them was going to help. Hermione was key to all this. If Hermione didn't wake up soon he'd have no choice but to challenge Malvado blind. Not that he was afraid; he just preferred to be somewhat more prepared and not to be blatantly stupid.

Ted interrupted his thoughts, "Gummy came. He's here."

The second Ted mentioned Gummy's name his Auror instincts took over.

"Are you sure it's him?"

"His signatures check out and we don't have any reason to think otherwise," Ted reasoned, "He allowed me into his mind and he seems understanding enough that the elves have him at wand point and won't let him near Hermione."

That didn't prove anything. He didn't like the fact that someone uninvited was in Grimmauld with them.

"Why did he come?" Harry asked.

"He says someone told him to and to stay until the others arrived?"

"Who told him?"

"He couldn't say."

"Which others?"

"He couldn't say either. I sense he's waiting for the rest of the POTH but he should know by now that almost all of them are dead," Ted answered, He's not exactly a chatterbox. To be honest I'm not sure if he is all up there, if you know what I mean. Aside from what he said about someone telling him to come here all he says is, 'he can't say, he's not the keeper'. He won't talk about himself, not about the murders, not about POTH, and not about Malvado. And I couldn't pick anything up from voluntary Legilimiency. There's a mental barricade of some sort I can't get through."

Ted was good but not that good yet. If Hermione was indeed involved in the POTH and Gummy was POTH then this was likely her handiwork. He was exasperated at the lack of progress they were making.

"Is Ron there?"

"Not yet."

"When he comes in get him to talk with Gummy. He might be able to get through to him," he suggested, already thinking that if not, he would have to interrogate Gummy himself. He cautioned Ted, "Keep a close eye on him and don't let him anywhere near Hermione."

"Gotcha."

"Any news about Neville?"

"Still in the Hogwarts infirmary. He's fine, just shaken up. Too bad he has no recollection of what happened after putting the Snitch in his pocket," Ted replied.

When Harry first heard of the Snitch he could only think of the possibility that it contained the Resurrection Stone although it was unlikely to be the exact same Snitch Professor Dumbledore had bequeathed him years ago. And while Harry realized the Snitch could be valuable, retrieving it was not a priority at the moment.

But knowing who took it was. Already he was thinking that Leo or Malvado or the POTH had something to do with it. Ted read his next thought.

"Do you want a memory specialist to see him?"

Harry couldn't think of anyone at the Ministry they could trust, "Who do you have in mind?"

"What about Unspeakable Boots' sister?"

Parv, Padma's twin, was a St. Mungo Healer who specialized in afflictions of the mind. He was hesitant to bring her in because she was married to the Leo's grandson. Parv would do it but he didn't want to put her in a complicated situation unless there was absolutely no choice. Right now, there was no choice.

"Have Padma talk to her and ask her if she wants to be involved."

"Okay," he heard Ted scribble something on parchment, "Speaking of Unspeakable Boots, she and Dennis found out that Boris Dovalov is a Durmstrang alumni. He went to school with..."

"Max and Burkes Jr.," Harry completed for him, easily making the connection.

"Right. In school they founded this group called the Defenders of the Genius of Gelwert Grindelwald. They wanted to educate the less informed of the Dark Wizard's brilliance while at the same time acknowledging the fact that he was evil. George tracked down the retired Professor who was their group's adviser in Vladivostok. He said the three used to be inseparable. Max and Burkes continued to be close friends after Durmstrang, but not Dovalov."

"What happened?"

"There was a fall out of sorts just before graduation. George is at Durmstrang to dig up more facts."

George Bones was one of his best investigators. If there was something amiss, George would find out. He remembered Dennis' description of the conversation. Max appeared angry at the Russian Auror but the question was, what about?

"Remind George to be very careful and to let you or Ron know if he finds he's in way over his head,” he said, then he noted it odd that Ron still wasn’t at Grimmauld, "Ron should really be there by now."

"He must be um...stuck at the Ministry," he heard Ted hesitate then continue, "The Minister wants all MLE to report back. Jessie was also called in but she says she's staying here. I'm staying too."

He did not get any such message. Something was up and he had a good idea what. Harry recognized the risk Jessie and Ted were taking ignoring Leo's order and expressed his gratitude, then asked Ted to use his other Ministry connections to snoop around. He also advised his godson to give his wife the heads up so she wouldn't be the last to know, which reminded him that he should give Ginny a call too.

Harry did the second Ted hung up.

"He's predictable as always. He'd do anything to save his hide," Ginny assessed accurately, "He figures he should get to you before you get to him."

"It'll get a bit hot."

"I know," she wasn't worried; she was too angry at Leo to be.

He felt the need to reassure her, "I'll fix it."

"I know you will."

Ginny said she'd explain it to the children. After he hung up he thought about what Leo was attempting to do. For the plan to work Leo would need the support of others within the Ministry and a majority of the Wizengamot, particularly the Supreme Mugwump. And for that to happen they’d have to pin something bad on him, like ineptitude or treason.

Anything was possible. It wasn't hard to fabricate stuff and make anyone look bad. Harry wasn't concerned. The murders in London, the attempted murder on Hermione, they were connected to the POTH, Warren and Malvado. Getting to the bottom of that was his priority. And while much of the real investigation was covert, his chosen method was justified because it involved the Hallows, the Minister of Magic and his Office.

He had no time to be contacting the Supreme Mugwump or the key Wizengamot elders to inform them of what was going on. And really, at the moment he couldn't care less. Politics was the least of his worries. He was confident that the Aurors and MLE loyal to him would know what to do and he figured the truth about Leo would come out once he got to Malvado.

But this recent development only added to Harry’s frustration. The list of people he needed to speak with was growing; Gummy, Dovalov, Max and Neville to name a few, all of them on the other side of the world. The reality was he was limited to resources and manpower he could trust, a rag-tag team of good friends and an underage partner who shouldn't be with him.

He could have done better without the latter but Hugo would never have stayed at Grimmauld and this was the only way Harry could keep an eye on him. Coming here to meet with the fortune-teller, while interesting, was likely going to be a dead end. Hugo insisted and Harry had to pick his battles. He could hardly wait to get this over and done with although for Hugo's sake he did hope the woman would get them closer to the bottom of what Hermione had been up to or maybe give them ideas about how to stop Malvado.

Harry looked at Hugo, the sharp barbs of his words still stung badly. As unjustified Hugo's aversion for him was it was understandable. It didn't matter that Harry didn't know about him or that he wanted to be his father now. The fact that he chose to leave his Mum then and by extension anything that had to do with her Hugo would have to object to him on principle. Accepting him would be tantamount to betraying his Mum. If he were thirteen and had survived this long without his real father in these terms he'd rather not have anything to do with him either.

There was a knock on the door. It was room service. As he let the man in Hugo got up and without a word headed for the washroom. He didn’t say a word when he got back either. He changed into a clean shirt, sat on the edge of his bed and began looking at the information Isa had given them. Harry didn't take silent treatment well.

“We should eat first before we go to the fair,” Harry told him, “Pepperoni okay?”

He had been unsure what to get and for a moment he was concerned that Hugo did not like pizza. He barely knew Hugo and hadn’t been paying much attention to what he ate while he was at the Burrow. But after going over the selection a few times he figured all teenagers ate pizza. Hugo's lack of enthusiasm made Harry wonder though, maybe he was vegetarian? Wishful thinking.

“I’m not hungry,” Hugo replied without emotion, “Thanks.”

Harry couldn’t think that was true. The last time they had anything to eat was more than twelve hours ago and Hugo just hit puberty.

“You should eat anyway,” he suggested.

Harry took a slice, began eating and tried to ignore Hugo, figuring that smothering him would only make things worse. If he was hungry he'd feed himself. Turning on the handheld device and navigating through Isa's collection of information seemed easy enough. They settled into relative silence and Harry found himself immersed in Isa's document.

Reading the compilation he found out that contrary to the information his office had, Malvado's origins were not local.

According to folklore, Malvado was born more than fifteen hundred years ago during the Dark Ages. His mother died at childbirth and his religious (and quite insane) father, believing he was the son of Death, threw him into the mouth of Mount Kopernik, a now dormant volcano in Siberia. Malvado supposedly lived within the earth in the fires of hell until Mount Benedictine in the north of Italy erupted in 1521 and he was spat out from within it. Hardened by a miserable existence, he terrorized most of Italy and France until he was sent back months later into a still smouldering Benedictine by a talented law enforcement wizard. He was not heard from again for almost five hundred years until 2005 when he walked out from the active Taal Volcano in the northern part of the Philippines. Locals have come to believe that he is the Son of Death and that he is a 'maranhig', a being with the gift of immortality, one who will die only if he chooses to give his imoortality up to someone willing to accept it.

For years he created his empire of evil in Southeast Asia, choosing this multi-island nation off the coast of the mainland as his primary base. Discovered by Spain at the height of its power, the Philippines was occupied by Spaniards for three centuries before the Americans took over in the early nineteen hundreds. It was also briefly under Japanese control during World War II and ruled by a dictator for more than twenty years. Filipinos are a generally amiable, complacent, and easy going people, religious and fatalistic, tolerant of most things and resilient to adversity. The country's Muggle and Magical leadership are as laid back. They generally are chosen by popular vote and many are in office on a platform of personality rather than substance. Not one leader in the past ten years has made a serious attempt to get rid of Malvado.

Isa's theory, and Harry agreed, was that it was for this reason Malvado chose to build his headquarters here and thrived for years undetected. He wondered though why Hermione would want to set up an IMAN in a country where there was known Dark Wizard presence. Scrap that. He could imagine Hermione purposely choosing the Philippines, if only to stir the pot a little and make it a bit more worthwhile.

The description of how things stood between the Malvados and the citizens of the Philippines was the most detailed and controversial depiction of the relationship he had read so far, Isa’s remarkable insight due to the fact that she was born and raised here. He did hope that Isa's overall impatient tone with the country’s tolerance of the Malvados was not unique to the teenager and that many others if asked to make a choice would choose not to be on the Malvado side.

"Is she awake yet?" Hugo asked unexpectedly.

Harry was so engrossed in his reading that he didn't notice that Hugo had devoured the rest of the pizza. The fact that his son had eaten gave him such a sense of accomplishment. Every little bit was a big deal and it took every ounce of his willpower not to break out into a smile. Putting things in perspective, the kid just ate pizza. He was hungry, more hungry than proud at the moment. It was not a big deal.

“Did something bad happen to her?” Hugo rephrased his question, his eyes somewhat wider, his tone more anxious.

"No, she's not any worse but she's not any better either."

Hugo turned away but not before Harry saw the crestfallen look on his son’s face. He couldn't leave Hugo thinking that way. He dug deep to find something encouraging to say, something he too needed to hear.

“Your Mum is a fighter. She’ll pull through. She has many times in the past.”

The teenager brushed off what Harry knew were tears. He saw a slight nod, but whatever thought it was that set Hugo off wasn’t letting up. His shoulders began shaking and he was losing the battle not to cry.

Hugo stood and made his way to the bathroom, the only place he could get privacy. Harry didn't let him run off this time. He got in Hugo's way, putting both his hands gently on the younger man’s shoulders. Unable to contain himself, Hugo began sobbing. Harry drew him closer, held him and let him.

“Sshhh...”, was all Harry could say as he stroke Hugo's back gently.

“What if...she doesn’t...wake up?” Hugo asked the very question he did earlier.

He replied what he too was working on, “Right now we have to believe that she will.”

Hugo nodded in agreement and sobbed some more. After a while, Hugo pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not making eye contact, embarrassed.

“What for?”

His son was sniffling, looking down at his feet when he answered, “For crying, for not being strong enough for her.”

“Your Mum will be so proud when she hears of how strong you’ve been all this time,” Harry said to him honestly, “And crying isn’t a sign of weakness.”

For the first time that night Hugo looked him in the eye and made an unexpected request, “If – when she wakes up, please don’t be mad at her. I'll understand if you are. You have every right to be that she didn’t tell you about me but just don’t be mad at her. Don’t make her feel more guilty than she already feels.”

Hugo had tears pooling in his eyes again as he looked at Harry expectantly, waiting for a good reply.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Harry assured him right away.

That addressed Hugo’s anxiety somewhat and lifted their spirits instantly.

“I’m still hungry,” his son admitted, blushing so much that Harry had to chuckle, “You don’t mind if I...”

“Go ahead. Call room service.”

“That would take forever,” Hugo commented, “I can run down and grab something from the burger joint across the street.”

“Here,” Harry dug in his pocket.

“No, it’s okay. I have Muggle money. Do you want anything?”

He didn’t. Hugo was out the door right after disguising himself as a local boy. Harry would have to ask him how he does that so easily. And since Gracie's restaurant, Hugo continued to be cautious about being seen in public as himself. Harry sensed that there was more to why Malvado’s men were looking for him aside from the fact that he was Hermione's son. He bet that Hugo was more aware of it than he was leading him to believe. He'd have to figure out a way to find the truth about that too.

With Hugo gone Harry mulled over his answer to Hugo's request. It came out so spontaneously it felt odd that he didn't even pause to think about it.

In truth Harry hadn’t really thought about it, about whether he was angry at Hermione or not. Since finding out about Hugo he certainly had not felt the righteous indignation against her that he was entitled to. The only time he felt anything close was when Ginny told him that she knew about Hugo. He harboured no such rage towards Hermione and interestingly enough, he felt Ginny more responsible than her.

He could only think that it was because of what they went through together and how they had always been with each other. He had no expectations from Hermione, she was not accountable to him. She had given him so much it would be criminal to ask for more. She chose what she felt was right for her and Hugo and he could not blame her for choosing to exclude him. After being burned so many times it was only natural for her to not think it possible that coming to him with the truth would work out well. And even though he disagreed with her decision and could argue that what she did was wrong, he knew in his heart that she did it because she felt it was for the best, only it didn't work out exactly the way she thought it would either.

No, he was not angry at Hermione and couldn’t imagine himself being so when she woke up. If there was someone he should be miffed at it should be him, for not giving her enough reason to trust that he would do the right thing. And besides, being angry at her wouldn't achieve anything. They have a son who needs them both and they would have other more important things to talk about.

He thought about Hugo, about how he was the one who should be angry at his Mum but wasn’t. Although Harry had nothing to do with how he grew up, Harry felt proud that at such a young age the kid was understanding and forgiving and that he stood up for his Mum. In spite of everything Hugo was a solid kid. It would take time but Harry was confident that eventually he would come around.

Harry steered his mind back to the task at hand. After spending a few more minutes on other Malvado facts he turned to read the Isa's paper on secret organizations. She wrote about quite a few. He scanned through and pages later he found the topic he was looking for.

My Day with a Real Life Hallows Quester

Of the many magical myths in existence none is more legendary than that surrounding Beedle the Bard's Tale of the Three Brothers. I spent a day with Pontificus Putnam, Canadian historian and long time Hallows quester. While he did not give specifics, he gladly took me through the basics of what it's like to be hooked on the Hallows.

More background story followed. It mentioned the items central to the story, why they were so desirable, the Questers and their origins and how there were those who did it for sport while others who did it for potential gain. He was about to write off the school report when Isa finally wrote something of interest.

Between the years 2003 and 2006, the Questing world was inundated with shocking rumours that the Hallows had been finally united. A human was supposedly walking in the shadows, bearing the cloak, the stone and the wand, battling elements of the dark world in North and South America and in Asia. Though never confirmed to exist and widely thought to be mere government propaganda to scare off dark wizard wannabes, she was referred to by those who believed as the Mistress of Death.

Her name is still whispered with god-like reverence in certain parts of the world but according to this serious Quester, sightings of her significantly decreased in number after 2006. Some of those who believe she existed go on to say that she met her match and perished in a wand-fight in Europe in early 2008. Others believe she burned out and has relinquished possession of the artefacts. Still others believe she is alive and well, fully intending to be Mistress of Death for all of eternity, waiting for a moment when she is needed again.

Such is the legend of the Mistress of Death. After her seeming departure from the Questing scene fifteen years ago, many hopefuls rejoined the search for the elusive artefacts. Emboldened by the stories of the unification, there was a rise in zealots, those who stop at nothing to acquire possession of Death's Hallows, particularly the Elder wand. There was a surge in the number of murders and thefts and it angered the more sensible believers like Mr. Putnam. This led to the advent of policing initiatives and the creation of the Organisation of Questers (OOQ).

It went on to describe what the OOQ was about. Harry read further down and near the end, briefly mentioned was what he was looking for.

Zealous questing in recent times has brought about zealous opposition to questing as well. Mr. Putnam mentioned one particular group of beings who operate under a cloak of anonymity and is unique in that its methods border on unlawful. The first time they were heard from was in 2010 when a Bulgarian quester turned himself into authorities, admitting to masterminding a plot to violate the tomb of Gellert Grindelwald. He served six months in Nurmengard. At his interview with the OOQ after he was released he spoke of his unpleasant encounter with a menacing selection of cloaked individuals. With his admission, many other scary and embarrassing run-ins with them were admitted by fellow questers. The group's intentions were clear; they actively inhibited questing and the spread the word that questing was futile because the artefacts were well hidden. By 2015 they were thought to be responsible for dozens of Obliviations, memory charms and, in cases of obvious criminal activity, anonymous tips to authorities that led to arrests.

The group was nameless at first but at each encounter they always left a symbolic signature, the triangular image known to represent the stone, the cloak and the wand barely visible beyond an enclosure formed by seven interlocking pillars. It is not known what the seven pillars stand for but many think that they represent the seven members of the group, prompting many to refer to them as the Pillars of the Hallows or the POTH. Still others prefer calling them Pests of the Hallows.

Harry clicked on the link to Isa's notes and found more interesting information there. It contained names of possible POTH members and supporters as theorized by her interviewee. Since evidence was circumstantial Putnam had requested Isa to keep his list off the record. There were about a dozen on it but three names stood out for him.

First there was Caraktakus Burkes, Jr.. The murdered shop owner was apparently a former quester turned very vocal anti-quester. He had denied involvement with any such group in front of OOQ but Putnam thought he was a logical POTH member if not one of the supporters, postulating that the change in heart must have come from an encounter with the group.

Surprising to him was seeing Professor Flitwick on the list. The diminutive Charms professor was recognized by a couple of witnesses but his stature and reputation in the magical community made many from the OOQ think it unlikely so he was never interrogated about possible involvement.

The third was interesting in that his name seemed to be cropping up a lot lately. The retired Russian Auror Boris Dovalov sure had a lot to explain. His anti-quester stance made sense though, particularly knowing of his hands off role during the Gaunt case years ago. Harry wondered about Rasputin, if the Healer was still alive and a player, seeing that Dovalov obviously was.

Was Dovalov indeed POTH and if so why was Warren trying to hide the Russian's involvement? Was he the Keeper? Was Rasputin?

It was also curious that Hermione's name wasn't on it. From Isa's parting remark to Hugo he expected it would be. How did Isa come to the conclusion that Hermione was POTH?

Harry glanced at the clock bedside. Hugo had been gone for quite some time and it was almost nine.

The thought that his son ditched him briefly crossed his mind. No, he wouldn’t. His pack was still...nope, his pack wasn't on the floor beside his bed anymore. Cunning, sneaky little...

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know it's a lot to take in.

POTH and Malvado - any thoughts?

I've limited it to names of places and introduced other types of magical beings but wondering if the use of non-English words was distracting and too much?

Harry is about to lose his job (maybe), Ron is about to be interrogated (and potentially leak what Harry has been trying to hide – including Hermione’s location) and Hermione is still asleep.

Hugo may be up next but you guys already know I'm as reliable as a weatherwoman when it comes to such predictions :).

50. The Fortune Teller

A/N. Thank you all for your patience.

Someone said they missed Warren and I couldn’t resist but do one of their past. It is to explain what Hermione and Warren are to each other – you may skip if you wish.

Then the present. There is a small portion about the Minister of Magic and his trusted men. Much of it is about Harry, Hugo and the fortune teller. My thanks to Locke and Maeve Morgan for their ideas in this chapter.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 50 – The Fortune Teller

Mid July 2011

Ernie and I are with Kingsley in Nicaragua on official Ministry business. As things at the homefront are solid and stable the Minister, in recent months, has become one of the most admired and most influential leaders in the magical world. This meeting with the Ministers of Central America is to rejuvenate stagnant relations and to explore where each of them stood with regards to the growing Being uprising in the area. There is much talk that things here aren't as advertised and Kingsley felt it a moral obligation to exercise Britain's influence without officially interfering.

With us are the first two Being members of the Wizengamot, Grapplehook the Goblin and Firenze, centaur, erstwhile Professor and former resident of the Hogwarts Forbidden Forest. They are getting hosed, we all are, but the anti-Being sentiment is not hard to miss. Mid visit Grapplehook is ready to tear some delegate's head off and the usually unflappable Firenze is hot under the collar.

We expected this. They are not stupid. They are not going to show us obvious ugly but they are a proud people too. Kingsley, to his credit, remains calm and he focuses the team back to what the plan is. We hammer away at proposing partnerships and investments ultimately tied to Being welfare, some of them they would be hard-pressed to refuse.

Throughout the meeting I sense a familiar presence in the not so familiar crowd. Warren is here with the delegation from Panama; I know this from intel reports during our preparations. He is hired protection. The Panama Minister, Geraldo Valdez, is the longest serving leader in the region. He has been in office for twelve years and is paranoid about being sacked through a coup, which would be the fourth in the area in three years.

While I didn't expect Warren to welcome me with open arms I certainly expected him to at least say 'hi', even if it wouldn't be as himself. He would know that I know he's here and I am trying to sort out whether or not I should actively look for him. It wouldn't be difficult. The Panama delegation comprised of twenty five individuals, ten of them I have already spoken with.

I decide to leave him alone. Really, I don't want to dredge up the past and since he was the one who left (and had good reason to), I figure it is only right to give him as much space and time as he wanted, and the right to choose not to talk to me again.

A dinner reception concludes the 'successful' meeting and most leave for Britain after. I hang back with Ernie and a couple of Ministry project leaders to tie up loose ends in the morning. That night I go on my unofficial mission and meet with the local Being leaders. I know most of them from my years as the Mistress of Death, although none would guess that I am one and the same. Brian Figg of the OFE, my former boss and a friend of mine, and Jurnuk of the BOG join me. We listen and ask what we can do to help.

It is close to one when we finish. Brian drops me off at my hotel. Too worked up to sleep I head to the bar for a night cap and notice a nondescrip wizard sitting near the end. He has a bottle of local beer in his hand and he looks up as I enter. I take the seat beside him the same time he orders a Double Screw Screwdriver for me.

"Thanks," I say to him and then I thank the barkeep as he hands me my drink.

I take a sip; he chugs a mouthful. I'm too old for games but I don't know where to begin. He starts.

Fuck Waterloo. It's been seven years. I can't believe you don't have some speech prepared for me, he says in my mind and as I tense up and am about to get defensive he adds, "It's a joke. I'm kidding. You can relax."

I do. We look at each other and I gaze into his eyes. They’re at peace and so different from the last time I looked into them. I will never forget how much I hurt him.

Does this mean you've finally forgiven me? I counter.

Warren is glib to answer; I didn't think there was anything to forgive. You were perfectly clear about what you wanted and what you didn't.

So why haven't I seen you in seven years?

I was being an ass, he admits readily.

And it took you seven years to realize that? I take a jab at him

We laugh as he corrects me, Six and a half.

Then he goes on this brutally honest tirade about me, I know I left without saying goodbye but what the hell were you thinking taking up with Weasley again? And marrying him? Were you trying to kill me?

Gone a bit melodramatic with age, have we?

He summarizes his take on what went wrong between us in a too simplistic way, You told me you didn’t want to get married so I leave and then what do you do? You marry your ex-boyfriend.

I didn’t marry him right away, I reason out lamely, Things happened and my priorities changed. Then I realized I made a mistake so I divorced him.

I can’t believe I was number three all along.

You were not number three.

I was too.

And I can’t understand your obsession about being outranked.

I can deal with being number three. But behind Ronnie? Now that was insulting.

I don’t rank the men I sleep with.

Yes, you do. You marry or get engaged to the ones you care the most about.

Will you quit whining? Be a man. I didn’t marry you. Big fucking deal. In my opinion you’re lucky that I didn’t.

He is chuckling and I am too. I whip out a couple of pictures from my purse.

“That’s Rosie, she’s five and Hugo, my three year old.”

He studies the images and gives them back to me with a compliment, “They’re beautiful kids.”

“Yes they are,” I glance at their smiling faces before putting them away and I’m instantly energized.

“Where are they? Their fathers'?”

He is studying my reaction. He knows, of course. The judgmental tone in his voice is not because he thinks having children with two different men is morally wrong but just so I would squirm realizing that it took him two seconds to pick up what I didn't want him to know.

“They're spending part of the summer in Perth with Granny and Grandpa.”

He lets go of what I don't want to discuss and seems genuinely happy that Mum has remarried. We talk easily for the next hour or so, mostly about what we’ve been up to outside work. We have a mutual understanding that there are topics that are off limits, like ones about Harry and Hugo. It is like old times, like we’re picking up our friendship from where we left off. In the end I succumb to the pressure and I take the opportunity to criticize his chosen career path knowing my conscience won’t let me rest if I didn’t.

“How can you work for such a scumbag?”

“To protect him from younger, worst scumbags,” he replied matter-of-factly, "That and he offered the most money. He also has this amazing harem..."

I interrupt him before he gets more graphic, “Seriously. This henchman-bodyguard gig isn't you."

"Not all of us can be Head Aurors when we grow up, you know," he argues with the snide remark.

"Very funny. What's in this for you?"

"Are you suggesting that I’m in Panama for some reason other than the obvious?" he is amused.

"You're a self-centered, egotistical bastard,” I repeat what he confessed to me about him years ago, "Being some lackey isn't you. You're up to something."

Warren merely laughs and replies, "Don't think too hard about that."

He downs the remaining half of his beer and he slips. I hear his thoughts about me, how much he hates that I'm wishing he's in Panama for some higher purpose and how far from the truth that is. My expectations annoy him and I'm making him feel guilty as he recalls something unsavoury from not so long ago.

I press on, peeling his mental barriers even though I feel his resistance. Then it comes, his painful and my guilt-filled emotions of the night he left me trickles in, disjointed and unorganized at first before the rest of the pieces bursts through in a gush of memories and explodes within us. I see his pain fuel an anger I never knew him to have, anger at me and at the world for being so unfair when he tried so hard. Soon after, in protest, he stopped trying to make the world a better place.

He pushes me off his mind just as I see a glimpse of his trek down the dark side. There is much more but I don't want to know that about him. He doesn’t want me to see him like that either.

The memories, though old, are as powerful as the actual events they are based on. At this point I want to cry but he tells me not to in his usual unorthodox way.

"I'm here, I'm healed, so fuck off already with the past. I'm finally rid of it and the last thing I want is to re-live it. Do that on your own time. Okay?" he peers into my eyes and though it is difficult to stop thinking about it I nod, "So, do you want my help or not?"

He knows exactly how to keep my mind from wandering back to those thoughts but his sudden proposal catches me off guard.

"With Valdez?"

"It's not only Valdez or the other Ministers you should be worried about," he cautions, "The Being leadership in the region isn't as solid as you think and your friend MacMillan is a sleeper."

"He is not," I defend Ernie without thought, "I've known Ernie for twenty-years. He believes in what we're doing."

"He's a Pureblood bigot."

"He's a close friend."

"Yes but still a bigot," giving me that look about how weak that argument was, "And a smart one. He knows he won't get ahead in this Ministry if he shows his true colors."

I'm frowning. I can't see what he's talking about. Ernie works under me in the MLE and I can't think of one instance that would make me doubt his character.

“You’re wrong about him.”

"Just watch your back," Warren adds.

He goes on to tell me the weak points in the agreements we should be aware of during the procedures in the morning. By the time he is done it is almost three and we both have to be up early. He offers to walk me up to my room. It is when I feel what he feels; an upwelling of emotion; a familiar yearning. I can't believe in spite of what happened he wants to be burned again.

I nip his desires right in the bud with a light-hearted but firm tone, "I'm not having sex with you."

"You probably shouldn't. I have a very suspicious rash you won't want to get," he quips with a poker face.

"Ew!"

"It should be gone next week."

He is laughing inwardly, pulling my leg and I see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. He enjoys teasing me this way. This is his charming and playful side and I can only shake my head at his flirtation. He puts on the pressure.

"No? Not even then? Why not?"

"You know why not."

"Because nothing has changed? I don't care," he dismisses and makes a proposal that is hard to refuse, "You can’t say no to amazing sex without strings attached."

"There is no such thing as sex without strings attached," at least not for me, something I discovered about myself when I was with him.

“Not my problem anymore. It'll be just like old times."

"Do I need to remind you what I did to you the last time?"

"Do that and I'll Obliviate you," he threatens and meant it.

"Really, Warren, no."

"Arguing about this is pointless. Arguing about it will take longer than just doing it. It's inevitable."

"Inevitable. How do you figure that?" I ask, curious.

"Because you find me attractive," he states a fact, "Because I find you difficult to resist. And because you haven't had sex in almost four years you'll fold the second I step closer and touch you."

My mouth is agape in disbelief that he said what he did and I am red from embarrassment. If he was any other guy I would have been offended already however I know he isn't being disrespectful but just being his crass self. We have no secrets and he is not the type to mince words when he wants something. I find myself laughing at his crudeness to relieve my humiliation of the fact that I had not been with a man in four years because I couldn’t see myself being with one, until now.

"Come to think of it, you haven't had sex for so long you're practically a virgin again. Whoa! I think I just about prematurely ejaculated thinking that."

"Will you stop that already?" I ask, as his wild imagination spills over, making me fell all warm and fuzzy inside.

"You want it too," he tells me, reading me well in my vulnerable state.

"Only because we keep talking about it. Let's just not talk about it."

"I'm just saying, it's inevitable."

He is apologetic because he is right. By then there is no need to talk about it anymore. It is a foregone conclusion. This raw honesty we have when we allow it is what I like most about being friends with him. It reminds me of how it was with Harry a long time ago.

Warren hears that last thought and he tells me there is no need to apologize. He pays for our drinks and walks me to my room. When we get there he is his usual appearance. He leans in, we kiss and we do the inevitable.

XXXXXXXXXX

16 September 2021 – Muggle Hotel across Luneta Park, Manila, Philippines

Harry was kicking himself. This was the last time he was going to let his fatherly instincts interfere with better judgment. Granted that his other children never gave him this much trouble, he had to remember that Hugo did not see him the way Al, James or Lily did.

It was nine. Hugo would be at the fortune teller's. Or maybe that was hogwash and the entire thing was just a ruse to get his gullible father to take him here. Hugo was very capable of doing something like that.

He took Hermione's locket out of his pocket and opened it. What he saw momentarily took the wind out of him. Gathering his bearings quickly, he Disapparated and made his way to the fortune teller's tent, seeing red all the way.

It had to be Warren. The prick behind it had to be Warren. And as soon as Harry could take this slippery son of his back to Grimmauld he was going to track his ex-partner down and try his best not to kill him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Present time – MOM Office, London

Leo Jericho had the Ministry Legilimens team in his office. They had just concluded an exhaustive interrogation on Ron Weasley and they were there to give him a report.

"What do you mean you have nothing?!" Hank screamed at the three-member team.

"Well, not nothing," Max in his usual sarcastic tone interjected as he put the parchment with the official report down on the Minister’s desk, "Apparently the cost of baby diapers costs a pound less at Nappies r Us."

"You have nothing on Potter?" Hector was skeptical, "Not even names or faces of co-conspirators?"

The Legilimens replied in the negative.

"There is one thing," the senior member of the team replied, somewhat with hesitation.

"What is it?" the Minister asked.

"It's very sensitive information," the wizard explained to Leo, his eyes darting furtively to the other occupants in the room.

"This is not on your report?"

"It's too sensitive to be on a report."

"Speak up. The men in this room can be trusted," Leo ordered him.

The wizard stammered, all eyes and ears on him as he took a moment to compose himself before answering, "Well Minister, at one point late in the questioning Auror Weasley started laughing. He was laughing so hard we thought he had cracked and gone mad. Not so. I asked him what was so funny. He declined to answer but I did pick up a fragment of his thought.”

He paused, somewhat afraid to speak further.

Leo prodded him, “Go on.”

“He was laughing thinking how much of an idiot you are, Minister, Sir."

The human contents of his office shifted uncomfortably. Leo blushed but regained his composure immediately.

"Um-why did Weasley think that?"

The Legilimens continued, "Because Potter asked him to watch your back. Potter believes at least one of the three men behind you should not be trusted. Potter thinks one of them is working for Malvado."

Leo Jericho did not move but from the corner of his eye he saw Hank, Max and Hector squirm in place and he began thinking.

He thanked the Legilimens, "You and your team are dismissed. Good work, Flavius."

"Thank you kindly, Minister," Flavius Belcher replied and had a most satisfied look on his face as he and his team left the Minister's office.

XXXXXXXXXX

Present time – Luneta Park, Manila, Philippines

Hugo was inside the fortune teller's tent. He was fidgeting, wishing the person who had gone in before him would finish soon, and looking around for any sign of his father. He felt bad about having to ditch his old man but he had good reason to. For one, he wasn't sure if the fortune teller would see him if the Auror came. He also didn't want his father to hear what he was going to ask and what the answer was going to be.

Earlier he recognized his stupidity as he overheard Warren’s conversation with his father. A few days ago his knowledge of Malvado was no more than mere trivia, a part of a test of whether or not he could penetrate Warren’s mental defenses. The name and case meant nothing for he had always been aware of the sensitive nature of his Mum’s work. He never got involved and never thought to be involved until now.

Malvado being the son of death changed all that. The only other time he heard of the 'son of death' was when this fortune teller mentioned it to him. At that time he dismissed it as the ramblings of a drunk and never even thought to share it with his friends. That was unfortunate. Had Isa heard it too she would have told him about Malvado sooner. And after reading that Isa had known about Malvado all along and had written about it on a school report he felt even more stupid. He should have been more curious. He should have asked Isa even though Warren told him discussing Malvado outside their mental exercises could put his Mum in danger and compromise what she was trying to do.

If only he had known sooner that Malvado was the son of Death things might have turned out differently. He would have stayed with his Mum and maybe his Mum would be okay.

At five past nine the second customer came out crying, her reaction no different than the first one or the ones he had witnessed the year before.

"She told me I'm going to die soon!" the young woman shared hysterically in the local language as her companion joined her and tried to comfort her, "I'm only twenty-two!"

Spencer had aptly renamed the witch a misfortune teller because of the fact that all she ever predicted was bad fortune. The emotionless fortune teller's assistant, a cross-eyed, short, pudgy man in his thirties, appeared at the entrance and called him in.

"Ninoy?"

Hugo nodded and got on his feet. The assistant eyed him curiously. The alias was Isa's pick, the one he used when they were here last year and was the name of her favourite Filipino Muggle hero.

He followed the man into the secluded fortune reading room. The tent was just as he remembered it. The walls were lined by tapestry of odd mismatched wizarding designs, candles lit the periphery giving the room an orangey hue and the one major piece of furniture was a round wooden table with two matching seven-legged stools. Hard to miss on top of it was a clouded, murky crystal ball.

The assistant motioned him to sit on the stool closest to the doors, muttering an expletive about the fact that the fortune teller had taken a break again, complaining bitterly about how he wasn't being paid enough to babysit. He demanded the five thousand peso service payment for the thirty minute consult, all of it non-refundable. It was a steep price considering many would not last ten minutes with her.

Money tucked away, the man disappeared beyond the beaded curtain doorway across the table. Almost instantly a barely audible argument ensued between the fortune teller and her assistant. The assistant walked in moments later, stoic yet obviously incensed. He stood at attention, cleared his throat and in a drone like voice did his thing in the English language.

"Presenting to you, the gifted and most accurate fortune-tell..."

"Seer!" corrected a snarly voice from beyond the beads.

"Seer...," the assistant corrected, rolling his eyes even further than Hugo thought possible, "...this side of the Pacific has ever known, not to mention grossly overpaid, Mystic Sybill."

The beaded curtains parted on their own and out came a plump witch with huge inch thick spectacles, hair pulled up in an untidy bun. She wore a shiny red dress that rustled with each unsteadily step to the table. As she sat she miscalculated the chair position and disappeared from view with a thud.

Without another thought Hugo stood and went around the table, finding Mystic Sybill in an ungainly position on the floor. The assistant remained where he was, too preoccupied laughing at the sight before him. Hugo grabbed onto her soft, thick arm and struggled to help her up.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, sweetie. Thank you. You are such a gentleman, not like somebody else here," she replied in a wispy, breathless voice as she got up, casting the castigating remark at her assistant who was still snickering behind them, totally unaffected by the insult.

Hugo helped her to her seat and got close enough to get a whiff of a fruity aroma from the Seer. This was what Hugo was afraid of. Like the last time he saw her, the fortune teller was drunk and she made no sense whatsoever then except for that last bit about the son of Death after Isa and Spencer left the room. Merlin only knew if she would even remember him.

"Are you sure?" Hugo had to ask as the old witch almost slipped off her seat again.

"Yes, sit; sit," she motioned him over to his stool, "We shall start. Leave us, Kulasito."

The assistant did as he was told. He turned off the brighter candles on his way out, sending the room into semi-darkness. The crystal ball at the centre of the table lit up and the seer started humming, her hands carressing the round object as she gazed into it.

Hugo let her do her thing but after a while, and it was a while, he began to wonder if he should interrupt. He was about to when the humming stopped. Mystic Sybill was very still so he waited and he waited and then he heard a sound...a gurgling sound.

Great. She was snoring. If not for the fact that he really needed to speak with her he would have just left.

"Mystic Sybill...Mystic Sybill...," he stood up and came up beside her, touching her shoulder, gently shaking her, trying to wake her up, "Mystic Sybill, wake up, Mystic Sybill..."

She snorted and moved but only to embrace the crystal ball. Not even a war could wake her up. Hugo swore under his breath, at a loss about what to do.

"Need my help?" a voice suddenly came out of nowhere and his pissed off father appeared from a lifting Dissillusionment Charm on the other side of Mystic Sybil.

The murderous look in his father’s eyes was enough to send goose bumps down his spine. He had really pushed the old man over the limit.

"I'm sorry..." he began to apologize but his father cut him short.

"Save it for later," the Auror snapped at him, annoyed, "Why didn't you tell me she was the fortune teller?"

"What?!"

What was he talking about? His father didn't answer. He was already nudging the Seer, trying to wake her up too.

"Professor...Professor Trelawney..."

Professor Trelawney? Mystic Sybill was Professor Trelawney, the former Hogwarts Divination teacher?!

"Professor Trelawney!" the Auror shook her one more time.

"Huh? Wha? What?"

The Professor stirred, lifting her head and finally coming to. She fixed her glasses back on right and recognized the person waking her up.

"Mr. Potter? Merlin, I must be dreaming..."

"No you’re not dreaming, Professor. It is me."

Mystic Sybill was blushing and was attempting to fix up her appearance as she stammered, "Mr. Potter...why...well...it is so unexpected to see you. What are you doing here?"

"That's exactly my question to you."

Even from the dimmed out lights Hugo could see that the Seer was beet red when she replied, "My inner eye led me here, and it told me to travel and share my gift, make my mark internationally..."

"Mystic Sybill - er Professor,” Hugo interrupted, now unsure about how to properly address her, “Do you remember me?"

Professor Trelawney noticed him for the first time since waking up and squinted up close, peering over her spectacles before shaking her head, "My dear boy, I am close to a hundred years old. I'm lucky if I remember my name. Should I?"

"I saw you last year, with my two friends," he tried to remind her, "You said all three of us were in grave danger."

"I'm sorry, young man..."

Hugo was determined, figuring that telling her more might tweak her memory, "I was leaving when you said that the son of death was going to make trouble and that I was the only one who could end it."

But the added information didn’t seem to work. It only confused the Professor more.

"I did? Surely if I said something like that I would remember. Son of death? Why, I can't imagine..."

"You have to remember!" Hugo pleaded as she rambled.

"She can't," his father had given up so easily.

Hugo insisted, feeling despair that she might not, "Of course she can! She said I was the only one who could do it! She has to remember!"

The Professor was sympathetic, "But I honestly don't. My Healer did say to ease up on the Sherry years ago but..."

"It doesn't work that way with her," his father explained, his tone intolerant, "If you told me it was her, I would have told you that and we wouldn't have wasted all this time coming here!"

"I didn't know it was her!"

His father didn’t believe him, questioning his honesty, "How could you not? You said your mother told you everything!"

"She told me about ProfessorTrelawney but from pictures she was always thin!!" Hugo tried to defend himself, "I didn't recognize her! How was I supposed to know?"

"It's the local food, you see," the Professor cut in, somewhat embarrassed, "I find the local food just delectable and quite irresistable. And the laid back lifestyle and stress-free pace of recent years, I find, has opened up the channels and liberated my potential..."

They couldn’t care less about the Professor’s explanation.

"What? Her words 'you are in grave danger' did not ring a bell?!" his father yelled at him, irked far more than Hugo thought was warranted.

Hugo felt like crying. It really didn’t ring a bell. Why was he so upset at him for not realizing who Mystic Sybill was? And why did it matter?

The Professor came to his aid, giving his old man a piece of her mind, "I don't like that tone you have Mr. Potter. Why are you badgering with this sweet boy?"

The Auror, feeling a compelling need, replied, "He's my son and he's not as sweet as he wants you to think."

"He's your son?” was the Seer’s more confused answer, “Why Mr Potter! This is a disgrace! You have a family! Taking up with a local woman...!"

"No, he did not take up with a local woman," Hugo morphed back to himself, explaining to Professor Trelawney, befuddling her even more. Thinking she probably needed some time to digest the new information, Hugo took the opportunity to apologize to his father again, "Look, I'm sorry, okay!"

But his old man was shaking his head, talking to himself, "We shouldn't have come here. We wasted all this time when we could have taken your Mum to a Healer..."

"Stop saying that! We are not wasting time! We need to talk to her!" he pointed at the Seer, who was now sitting back and seemingly content at being entertained by their heated exchange.

"What for?! So she can tell you again that you're in grave danger and that you're the one who has to finish Malvado off?!"

"No! So she can tell me how to do it!"

"What?!"

"She told me to come back when I was ready to face my destiny, that she'll tell me how to fulfill it. And that’s why I'm hoping that she remembers me because I have no clue how I'm supposed to stop the son of Death!"

His father was speechless for a few seconds, taken aback by his admission. This was precisely the reason why he didn’t want the Auror around for this. Because he'd get all rational and logical like an adult and...

"Let's go."

Decide to leave. Could he not understand how important the information was?!

Hugo tried to make a pitch, "But she knows how...!"

"Forget what she said."

"But I need to know...!"

"You don't need to know! If you think I will let you go after Malvado because some Seer says you have to do it and that she will tell you how then think again!"

"This is not happening!"

"You will not go anywhere near Malvado!"

"The hell I'm not! I have no choice!"

"Of course you do!"

"How can you even think that!? You of all people should know how prophecies work! You went on to fulfill your destiny. I have to fulfill mine!"

"Get a grip! It's just a prophecy! We're going back to your Mum and I don't want arguments from you!"

"Unbelievable! I knew you were a piece of work but I didn’t figure you for a hypocrite!"

His cowardly father faced Mystic Sybill and said to her, "Thank you for your time, Professor."

"He does have a good point, you know," Mystic Sybill commented out of the blue, sounding more lucid and somewhat different, "But I'm somewhat disappointed that your son calls you a hypocrite and you're just going to let him get away with it. Why Heartbreak, I expected so much more from you."

His father stopped to look at the Professor closely. He too must have noted the difference. Did she just call his father Heartbreak?

"Professor?" Hugo checked.

"Hush Heartbreak Jr., I'll get to you in a second," Mystic Sybil dismissed him.

It dawned on Hugo then that they were no longer talking to Mystic Sybill.

"Hag," his father greeted the witch, recognizing who she was, "You're supposed to be dead."

The Hag let out a sigh of frustration, "I know, I know. Don't remind me. So, how is my favourite student? I see your life has turned out to be somewhat complicated?"

"Why are you here?" his father got to the point.

"I was just about to help Junior here with his destiny. Son of Death versus the Son of Death's Mistress. The prophecy says it's THE battle of the Century. Exciting stuff!"

"It was her," Hugo confirmed for his father as they both looked at him, "She was the one who said to come back when I was ready."

"And you thought I was just a rambling drunk, you snotty little bastard," the Hag retorted with a stinging remark, "Are you indeed ready for your destiny?"

"Yes, I am."

“So why did you bring daddy to the party?” she posed a challenging question, “Banking on the fact that he will want to step in and fulfill it for you?”

Her words grated against him like metal on metal so much that he blurted out an emotion filled defence, “Of course not! He wasn’t invited! And he's not my daddy!”

The Hag laughed, “Goodness! You quip with a whip just like your mother.”

“How do you know my mother?!”

"Long and interesting story, Junior," the witch retorted, "But one that will have to wait seeing that your Dad is in a rush to save other people."

"He's not my Dad!"

"Daddy, dad, father, whatever Junior. As much as you wish he isn't from the looks of you he obviously is, so stop deluding yourself," she replied, then went off like she was on some stage doing a speech, "You are his bastard; nobody can change that fact. You should embrace it! You should stand tall, be proud and shout to the rest of the world that you are Harry Potter's bastard! The sooner you accept it, the sooner everyone else will!"

Hugo's face was hot; his ears were steaming! The woman was crazy! Who did she think she was saying things like that?! How could she think that would be okay?

And it seemed that the insane witch was not done, "Think of it this way, Junior. You're special. There are three legitimate Potter children but you're the only Potter bastard in the world."

Hugo was in near tears when his father stepped in.

"That's enough, Hag!"

"Why?" the Hag countered, oblivious to what if anything was wrong, "I'm just saying things many want to say to him but can't. The brat needs to hear it."

"Stop calling him brat and stay out of our business."

"Fine, I was merely trying to help. Now about Junior's destiny..."

"Don't call me Junior," Hugo protested, hating the nickname already, though he was sure it fell on deaf ears.

"Yes, about that," his father interrupted, "Why tell my son nonsense about being destined to be the one to finish off a dark wizard?"

"Because the nonsense is true."

The Auror argued with the Hag, "True or not you're dead. These matters don't concern you. It’s pathetic that you have to come back and possess another person’s body just to play mind games with teenagers. Are you really the Hag and if you are, what's in this for you?"

The witch clasped her chubby hands together and teary-eyed answered back, "I would say ‘fuck you too’ if not for the fact that I'm so proud of you right now that I taught you well enough not to trust me or anyone who could be pretending to be me."

The histrionics only angered his father.

"Come on, Hugo," the older man said to him roughly and Hugo wasn't about to argue with him.

They made for the exit when the witch spoke in a calculating fashion, "To prove I am who I say I am I could recount how I finally motivated you to be an excellent Occlumens, to keep your thoughts from me, funny amusing shower story that is, or tell you why I never taught Waterloo the things I taught you. But I figure none of that is appropriate in present company."

What she said made his father stop, the older man giving the Hag a hard stare, as she continued, "You know I am who I am, Heartbreak. Waterloo’s brat came to me, not the other way around. He needs direction. I can give him that."

"Why are you meddling?"

"Because I'm bored. Because nothing interesting like this happens in Death. Why does it matter? I'm here to keep you and Waterloo from losing another child. I'm hoping for a little gratitude here, especially from you," the Hag said, composure intact and unbreakable.

Hugo was stunned by what she just said and asked his father to confirm, "You and Mum had another child?"

His father didn't answer. He was busy measuring the Hag and her response.

"They did, years before they had you, years before your brother James. They had a good thing going, isn't that right Heartbreak?"

"Mum never said anything..."

The Hag gave him lip for his thoughtless comment, "You should know by now that your mother kept many things from you and from everyone else. I'm sure if you asked your Dad he can tell you all about it some other time, when he's less angry at you. But right now time is of the essence. There is a dark wizard on the loose and you have a destiny to fulfill."

"There is no such thing as destiny," his father finally spoke to him, "Destiny is what you choose to make it."

"Your dad knows otherwise. He just doesn't want you thinking it," the Hag whispered loudly in his direction.

"He's not my Dad," Hugo repeated, frustrated that she could not get that straight.

"Whatever."

His father turned to address the witch and they started talking about him like he wasn't there, "Hag, he's young and impressionable And this thing about me and his Mum has him confused."

"I'm not confused! Speak for yourself!"

The Auror continued, "I'd really appreciate it if you didn't mess with him."

Hugo sensed a conversation happening on a different plain as his father's and the witch's eyes locked. He knew his old man was going to get in the way. He tried to get the Hag's attention.

"Just tell me how to do it!"

The Hag looked at him apologetically and said, "Your Dad doesn't think that's a good idea."

"I don't care what he thinks!" Hugo had enough of his father's intervening, "It's my destiny! I need to know."

"Well good," the Hag smiled widely as she folded her arms across her chest, "You can ask your dad."

"What?!"

The Hag replied simply, "I just told your dad. You need to know. He knows. Ask him."

Seriously?!

"What?!"

"Heartbreak, get his ears checked. There's something wrong with his hearing," the conniving witch remarked in her now annoying and condescending tone, "This is where I make my exit."

"Thanks Hag," his father said to the witch, "I owe you."

"Don't thank me yet. Remember, you cannot do this alone. You will still need your bastard's help. Good luck to you, both."

He had to vent, "This is so unfair!"

The Hag scolded him, "You call this unfair? You're thirteen. You don't know unfair, Junior. And your dad isn't all that bad so stop being a brat. You're just embarrassing your Mum."

"Tell me what I need to know!"

"Out of my hands, Junior. Talk to your dad."

"Just tell me! Just tell me, dammit!" he screamed.

"Wh...why are you yelling at me?" a quivering, puzzled voice came from her mouth.

"Hag! Hag!" Hugo called out to the witch, trying to get her to respond.

But it was Professor Trelawney who answered back, "Mr. Potter! It is not proper manners to call someone a hag! Who is your mother? I want to have a word with her!"

Hugo gave up. The Hag was gone. He was pissed, the look on his face mirroring the scowl on his father's. He looked his old man in the eye and showed him his disgust at what he just did. The Auror did not back down and he had to look away as he realized there was no way in hell his father would tell him what the Hag just told him.

"My apologies, Professor. I will talk with him," his father said, "It was nice seeing you again."

Just as Professor Trelawney concluded a lengthy goodbye, his old man grabbed him by the arm and flung him to the ground. A burst of gunfire whizzed above him, puncturing holes into the tent. There was yelling, screaming and groaning as he heard a second round of shots being fired. Candles had flown out of their holders, some of them landing on the highly flammable decor, causing the tapestry to catch fire. In seconds, debris and smoke filled the room. There were voices outside, distressed onlookers and policemen telling people to back off, to wait for the firemen.

Where was his father? Hugo could hardly see through the haze and it was getting very hot. He could imagine the tent collapsing on them any moment now. He groped around the spot where he last saw the Auror standing and felt a leg. It was limp when he tugged at it and damp to his touch. He brought his hand up to his face and saw blood.

Crawling up closer to the body he recognized his father, unconscious. He tried Disapparating with him but there was something blocking their transport. Suddenly there was a loud crash to their right accompanied by cries from the outside. A portion of the tent had gone down. With no choice and not a moment to spare, he clasped his father’s shoulders with both hands really tight, closed his eyes, and freed himself.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Locke – I know you had doubts but I hope I did justice to the Trelawney as the fortune teller scene. Thought it would be a wonderful surprise to have the Hag back too :)

Maeve – thanks for reminding me that Harry has the locket.

I think it’s finally time to wake Hermione up.

51. Portals

A/N. :blush: I apologize for the very long wait. Grade 1 is such a traumatic experience and I’m not talking about my son. I finally got my act together, I think - enough said.

My thoughts and prayers go to my fellow Filipinos in the Philippines who were victims of nature’s wrath and revenge. Thank you to those who gave support.

About the story-

Forgive the multiple POVs. Some may not seem necessary and if you think that you may have a good point It's long because I promised to wake Hermione up.

First italicized part is in the past. Someone was curious about the tension between Warren and Ginny - I couldn't resist.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 51 – Portals

September 2011 - London

I'm at a charity to raise funds for outreach Quidditch programs for underprivileged youth. Harry is supposed to be here but something came up at the office. Kingsley called a one of those planning meetings - with her.

I'll be fine with this, eventually. It has been four years since and they won't do it again; I know that. I just need to stop thinking that at one point they did. I need to stop noticing how much more livable he has been since she came back. I need to stop thinking that he still loves her. And I need to stop wondering if he thinks about her when he’s with me.

I'll be fine with this...

I look around. There are quite a few familiar faces at this garden event, many of whom I've met through other Quidditch and Ministry functions. I have a glass of wine in my hand and decide it is time to mingle when somebody calls out my name.

"Good evening, Mrs. Potter," that voice, a most annoying one.

"Mr. Gates," I return his civility in kind.

My relationship with the Canadian has always been a hate-hate one. He called me Harry's fan girl to my face the very first time we met and it was downhill from there. To this day I believe that Gates was a bad influence on Harry and that if it were not for him we would have not broken up just before I joined the Harpies. He reminds me of that Harry, the one who questioned what we had, the one who considered the possibility that what we had wasn't 'it' and that whatever it was wasn't enough.

I assume Gates is here because the evening is hosted by the Canadian magical ambassador. Having no desire to exchange fake pleasantries with him, I turn away in search of someone else to converse with. Unfortunately no one was close by.

"Where's Harry?" he asks, "I was hoping he'd be here."

"He's at work."

I crane my neck looking for someone available, anyone.

"Ah, yes, his mistress," he comments not innocently. Hermione must have told him. He smirks and adds, "I meant his job."

"Of course, you did," I reply without emotion, not giving him the satisfaction.

"How are things between you and Hermione?"

"You'd have to ask her."

"It must be hard for you that they're working together again, just like old times."

He obviously wasn't going to stop. I had enough.

"I'm flattered that you're making all this effort to torture me with old news..."

He laughs, "I'm not trying to torture you any more than you're torturing yourself."

"What do you want, Gates?"

"To help you."

It was my turn to laugh, "If I needed help, you'd be the last person I'd ask."

"Second to the last person," he corrects accurately, "But considering that you decided to keep your skeletons in the closet and the expert you've hired isn't helping you much I figured you're dying to talk about it with someone else."

He is serious. I contemplate my answer before I say it out loud.

"Even if I did, why would I want to talk to you?"

Gates has a ready response to this, "Because I know exactly what you're going through. I know exactly how you feel and I know exactly what you'll end up becoming after all of this, a bitter hag."

"Go to hell."

As I am walking away I hear him speak in my head, 'The answer to your question is ‘yes’. He thinks about her when he's with you. That's why he doesn't look at you anymore when you have sex and leaves as soon as he thinks you're asleep. But you know this already that's why you never ask him and why you don't look into his eyes either. You know that what you'll see in them now is not what you saw in them before. At least if you close your eyes as he fucks you you can imagine it to be still there. At least you can imagine that he still loves you.'

By the time he finished I had stopped walking away from him. My face is hot and my eyes are burning. I hate him. He comes closer and stops in front of me, meeting my glare with like emotion. I become aware that we are alone, far from the other guests. I want to leave but he says something that makes me stay.

"All you want is for him to look at you and want you not because of some ring around your finger but just because. It angers you that you feel this insecure and lonely even when he’s right beside you. You have this need that he can't fill and you constantly ask yourself why do you stay? You're beautiful, you're intelligent, you have so much to offer Other men desire you. You know it and it makes you wonder sometimes, what it would be like to feel wanted again. If only someone interesting enough had the balls to cross your husband."

His words echo in my head. I could not have said it any better myself. But I’ve never said it because I’ve been too much of a coward to live with the truth. I'm too proud to admit anything, particularly to him.

"I would never cheat on Harry."

"Never? Really?"

He moves closer, his dark brown eyes connecting with mine and I feel how he feels. He understands because he went through the same thing with her. His pain is as raw as mine and misery loves company. I don't even notice that tears are running down my cheeks until, with the back of his hand, he brushes the wetness off my face. His hand slips behind my neck and his other arm around my waist. He is looking at me, my eyes, my nose, my mouth, studying me intensely.

I am not sure what happens next. I see him pressing his lips on mine, kissing me hard, raw, full of want. I know it isn't actually happening but I feel as if it is and I can't help but conclude that it is the best snog, real or imaginary, I've been given in ages.

Then I think of Harry.

I remember that Gates is a bastard. My hand comes up faster than lightning and smacks his face so hard it hurt. I am livid at him, shaking, too upset to speak more so as he rubs his flushed cheek and laughs at me derisively.

"You are so easy. You should be thankful you're not my type."

I reach into my purse. He twists my arm and my wand falls on the grass even before I can act on my thought to hex him.

"He doesn't love you, not the way you want to be loved. So, why do you stay? Is it the name? Is it because you're afraid to die alone?"

I snatch my arm back from him. He is getting it wrong. I stay because he asked for another chance., because I love him and because whatever he gives me is enough.

Gates laughs again, shaking his head.

"Seriously?!"

I get more angry as I realize the possibility that he actually read my mind.

"What's so amusing?"

"Nothing you'd find funny," he replies, still chuckling, "Some guys have all the luck. Here's some advice. Whether you stay or go you're screwed. Martyrdom isn't worth it and anyone else won't be good enough. There is no happiness for you either way but you don't have to be the bitch that we both know you are."

He is such a hypocrite.

"If martyrdom isn't worth it then why bother convincing me to give up my marriage for her?"

Gates shakes his head, “You just don’t get it, do you? You don't get it that you don't really love him."

Before I can retaliate with a snide remark of my own he adds, "You've fucked this up countless times, I don’t know how you live with yourself.”

Gates leaves me alone for the rest of the evening. Much later, I Disapparate home. Harry’s meeting with Kingsley is over and he picked up the children from the Burrow. I find him tucking the kids in bed and he tells me what James just did that was so funny. I laugh, then he asks me if I'm okay. Warmed by his concern I nod. I wasn't but I am now. I know in my heart Gates is wrong. I love Harry and he cares about me. These are the reasons why, in spite everything else, I’m still here.

XXXXXXXXXX

Present day

Harry felt cool wind in his face and vast emptiness beneath him. With his eyes closed he was certain he was flying but when he opened them the sensation disappeared. He found himself in a river, neck-deep in water, keeping himself afloat. The narrow waterway was between two rock-solid, unscalable cliffs and a thin slit of blue sky was the only thing he could see above. He could not think of where he was and how he got there but he had to get back to Manila, to the fortune teller's tent where he had left Hugo on his own.

He remembered now that as they were saying goodbye to the Professor he sensed too late a small army of Muggles with high powered firearms surrounding the Seer's tent. Professor Trelawney's assistant had called someone who called someone. It had to be Malvado who sent the Muggles to attack.

It angered him that Hugo was their intended target and he could only think that it was because of the prophecy. He was pissed at the situation, thinking how eerily similar to his own Hugo's life was turning out to be Hugo was just a kid and it was unfair for Hugo or any other thirteen year old to live through what he had.

What galled him even more was the arrogance with which Malvado sent Muggles to do the deed. To the dark wizard Hugo was a mere fly on the wall, an insignificant pest. Malvado didn't even think Hugo important enough to send wizards or to come himself.

Or maybe it was cowardice. At least Voldemort was man enough to try to do him in himself. Harry had to get back for Hugo. And Al and Rosie. He still had not figured out what to do about the imposters at the Pitch. He would likely need help there but first thing was first. He had to find out where he was.

Given the choices he had he was going upstream. That was really only because he believed nothing worthwhile came easy. He swam against the chilly current, pausing every couple of minutes until the walls beside him began to part and the horizon before him widened. As the river expanded into a larger pool of water, his eye caught something familiar that made his heart skip a beat. He stopped swimming that instant and looked up towards the clearing a few meters from the riverbank. It was her.

He was ecstatic to see her alive. She was talking with an old man, wizard from the looks of him, and from afar he could tell by how still she was that she was attentively listening to what the man was saying.

"Hermione!" he screamed and flailed his arms wildly, "Hermione!"

She couldn't hear him, his voice drowned by the sound of breaking water from a nearby unseen waterfall. He swam towards her as fast as he could, winded he got to shore.

"Hermione!" he mustered to shout out in between deep breaths.

He ran through the wild grass, losing sight of her as he did and when he got to the spot she was gone.

"Where is she?" he asked the old man she had been talking to.

"How do you know her?" the man asked back, eyeing him with suspicion.

"She's a good friend. I have to talk to her."

Deciding he was indeed a friend the man responded, "Too late. She has gone back."

"Back?"

"To the living."

It suddenly dawned on Harry what that meant.

"I have to go back too," Harry told him.

"I guess you can because like her you're not really dead - yet," the man answered simply.

That's a relief.

"How do I go back?"

"The same way we all cross between worlds. Portals."

"Portals?"

"Entrances, exits, walkways, bridges, tunnels, funnels, there are so many different kinds. They manifest uniquely to each and every one of us, often so seamlessly we don't even notice that we've crossed. I study them, even made one myself. I used to call them Death portals but knowing now that they are multi-directional I've renamed them to prevent a gross misnomer before it gets out of hand."

"Great," he butted in, "Um, could you direct me to the closest one please?"

"Sure. You're standing on one," and as his face betrayed his puzzlement, the man tried to make him feel better, "No need to be embarrassed. You can't see them."

"And you can?"

"No, of course not. No one can except Death Itself. However I have studied them long enough to sense the presence of the significant energy required to keep the passage from collapsing onto itself and for souls to cross between worlds safely. I've documented eighteen natural ones so far. See," he showed Harry what looked like a map of wherever it was they were, "The greens are the active ones, the blacks are closed permanently and the reds are ones which I predict will become one They are highly complex structures, with endless potential, unstable, though, can only accommodate one soul at a time."

This was all very interesting but...

"I really need to get back. How do I activate it?"

"You don't. It will send you back when it has replenished its energy sources."

"And when will that be?"

"By my crude estimation, in about twenty minutes, unless the authorities discover its existence and shuts it down for good..."

"The authorities?"

"Yes. The way they do it is barbaric..."

The man described what he meant. He didn't have time for any of this.

"Right..."

"They want them sealed of course," the man interrupted again, eager to share his thoughts about the matter, "I can understand the necessity to regulate soul travel. After all, even though not everyone wants to be here, this is supposed to be where everyone spends eternity."

"I'm kind of in a rush. I don't have twenty minutes to wait around," Harry explained.

The other rolled his eyes, "The living are always in a hurry. They can only think of the finite."

"Um - true. Thanks for understanding," he asked again, "So, are there any other nearby portals I can use sooner?"

"It's quite unfortunate that mine isn't functional anymore," the older man sighed, then pointed at his map, "And from what I can see here all the other active natural portals I know of are currently set to enter this dimension, that is except for the Death Highway."

"And the Death Highway would be...?"

"Death's portal, the only sanctioned one in this universe. It is also unique in that it is a many-way street all the time. Many try to travel through it but the checkpoints are aplenty so unless you're travelling with Death or are Death Itself, you're better off waiting for this one."

"Are you certain?"

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me for the next nineteen minutes. In that time I can tell you all you need to know about portals and portal travel. Of whose company do I have the pleasure of?"

"My name is Harry, Harry Potter."

"Ah, yes. Death's enigma. I've heard of you," the man said knowingly, "And it is quite interesting that while our paths never crossed in our lives before you're here to visit with me of all Beings. Why do you think that is Mr. Potter?"

"I have no idea," Harry shrugged at his thoughtful question, "Excuse my rudeness for not knowing but who are you?"

"Around here they refer to me as the Mad Monk. I was born Grigori Efimovich Rasputin but you may call me Grigori."

XXXXXXXXXX

Luneta Park, Manila

Salazar Malvado stood atop the peak of the roller coaster tracks, watching the smouldering remains of what was the Seer's tent, the fire in his eyes reflecting both the spectacle five hundred feet below and what he was feeling inside.

"Where is the kid?!" he hissed in the local tongue at the wizard beside him, the one he had ordered to oversee the search.

His minion replied fearfully, stammering, "We-we've se-searched everywhere. We-we haven't found him o-or the wizard who wa..."

The lame excuse was abruptly interrupted. With one singular intent the incompetent idiot's neck forcilbly twisted around one hundred and eighty degrees with a concluding snap, turning his face purple in an instant before his entire body went totally limp and keeled over the edge.

"Evanesco," his companion disposed of the free-falling dead man before it could cause more commotion down below. The Brit chastised him, "Was that really necessary?"

"He was useless!"

"Calm down..."

"I am surrounded by morons! I gave specific orders for them to wait for me!" Malvado vented.

"It’s done. There is nothing more you can do about it."

"Maybe if I kill one at each misstep those remaining will finally listen!"

"Your days won't be half as fun without clueless followers to boss around," the other wizard pointed out.

Malvado resigned to that fact, "I suppose you're right."

"Our satellite sensors are scanning the area for unexpected magicals and Muggles are afoot combing the fair. There is no need to worry. If Potter and the Granger boy are still in the vicinity we will find them,” the wizard assured him then cautioned, "Though, as I said before, we really shouldn’t be doing this. He was of no consequence until you messed with his mother. That goes for Potter too."

"I don’t care about the prophecy! And no one can touch me, not Potter, not Gates, not Granger and definitely not some thirteen year old brat!"

“But why risk it? Voldemort made that mistake before."

Malvado was tired of that old debate. The dark being known as Voldemort made mistakes but going after the Potter and the Longbottom babies was not one of them. Voldemort did not believe in the prophecy at first but he wanted to eliminate the two predicted to defeat him for the same reason Malvado wanted to eliminate the Granger kid.

He explained himself, "The boy has to die. He is a symbol of hope and hope is an annoying, dangerous thing."

"It would still be wise to leave the boy alone until you have the wand and the rest of the Hallows, especially now that his mother has unexpectedly risen from the dead."

Malvado drew in a frustrated breath with the reminder that he didn't have any of the Hallows in his possession. Malvado wanted all of them, to solidify his immortality. But he had to have the wand in particular. Having the wand would put him at ease. Earlier, when he first heard of the news of Granger's resurrection, he broke the fake wand in half confirming at once that the piece of wood wasn't the indestructible Hallow he had believed it to be. And he should have suspected this when he couldn’t get a response from the bogus stone. No one could have survived that attack and the fact that Granger did meant she was still Mistress of Death, which meant she had all three.

His source wasn't so unknowing after all and he was played for a fool. Granger had the Hallows with her all this time, maybe under some undetectable concealing charm. Malvado was pissed that the spy was able to keep that information from him. No matter; the asshole would pay for this embarrassment in the most unpleasant way. But not just yet. He could still be useful. And Granger...

“Tell me this. If Granger had the Hallows all this time, why didn't she come after me? Why isn't she coming after me?”

The question had been burning in him since he found out Granger was alive. It had been mind games with her from whence she first came to the area and got involved in his business. Did she know his source was compromised? Was she using him too?

The British Ministry official Malvado considered an ally calculated the question thoughtfully then postulated something Malvado had never thought of, “Maybe she believes in the prophecy. Maybe she thinks her son has to be the one to finish you off. But that doesn't sound like her at all.”

Malvado could not agree more. That definitely didn’t sound like the Granger he knew from years ago either. It was more likely that she was planning an attack, gathering allies as she had been at that Being meeting, to surprise him when he least expected it. Malvado believed that the best defense was offense.

A phone rang. The Brit reached for it in his robes pocket and answered.

"Yes...yes...okay, I'll let him know," the wizard hung up and said to him, "Jericho. Weasley's suggestion that there's a traitor in his inner circle is making him paranoid. He's asking sensitive questions. He needs to be managed."

"He is of no use to me anymore. You may deal with him as you see fit," Malvado replied.

"And we found the Snitch."

It was all he had to say. Malvado nodded.

"You can go."

XXXXXXXXXX

Holding cell, Ministry of Magic 10th level, London

"I need to call my wife!" Ron cried out.

Ron was in jail; weapon-less, helpless in a real prison. He had been trying to talk the guard into disengaging the wards and removing the physical bars, without much success. His jailer not only ignored him, the ass put on a Muggle show on the telly, one of those dance contests that Ann loved to watch, and turned the volume up.

The Auror paced, thinking, his gaze once in a while falling on the desk drawer some ten feet away from him where his wand and his other personal effects now were. He was hoping for some divine intervention. It was nothing short of divine intervention that allowed him to get out of interrogation with the Legilimens team unscathed. Ron had witnessed Flavius Belcher at work in the past and he was definitely not himself today. He was still puzzled at the passing comment from the Legilimens to stay in jail.

Not minutes later a buzzer rang and the guard shut the telly off. People were coming down the hall. Ron leaned against the metal bars as far forward as he could and tried to see what was happening.

"I am not the enemy! I'm MLE!"

It was Ernie. From the sounds of it, he had been arrested too and was not a cooperative prisoner.

"You’re a Potter co-conspirator," Trussell replied.

"Your accusations are baseless! There is no conspiracy! Get your hands off...!"

A wand discharged somewhere close by.

"Ernie! Ernie!"

There was no answer.

"Bastards! What did you do to him?!"

Trussell's face appeared from the right while one of the guards shoved Ernie into his cell. Ron caught his unconscious friend before Ernie could fall to the floor and set him on the bottom bed of the bunk in the room.

"He'll sleep it off," the unqualified Head Auror replied then said to him, "Listen Weasley. This isn't looking good for you. You have a wife with two brand new babies. With the way things are going I cannot promise your family will be left alone for much longer. But if you cooperate..."

Ron felt heat rise up to his face and he could not help his reaction to Trussell's threat. He walked towards the bars as close to Trussell as he could get while the other man backed off.

"If you go anywhere near them you better make sure I don't ever get out of this place because if I do I will hunt you down and kill you."

Beneath the exterior Ron could see Trussell's confidence waver, until the older Auror covered it up defensively, "It's out of my hands."

Trussell left. The guard turned up volume on the telly again. Ron looked at the passed out Ernie, running his fingers anxiously through his hair, hoping Harry and the rest would pull through. As he was doing this his hair got stuck in between the gaps on the metal strap of his Muggle time teller. He winced as he tried to disentangle himself from it, swearing while questioning why he continued to wear the useless contraption.

XXXXXXXXXX

Grimmauld Place

Jessie was worried. She couldn't get a hold of Seamus. The last time her husband called he spoke with Ted and told the Auror that Ron had been arrested. Warrants had been issued by the Minister for many Harry Potter supporters working in the Ministry, including her, which meant trouble for him too.

That was about an hour ago. Patience was never a strength. She looked over to Ted across the kitchen counter and asked him to call Seamus again.

"Still no answer," Ted said after a couple of tries, sympathizing with her, worried too, "I haven't heard from Harry in a while either."

Great. Just great. She couldn't stand not doing anything.

"I'll check on Hermione."

On the way up the staircase she saw Gummy in the sitting room in the same spot he had been since he got there, unbothered by the two elvin guards watching him. In the upper level the other elf paced outside Hermione's room, eyeing Jessie keenly as she went in.. The mini-Dementors creeped her out. Gummy creeped her out. The things happening at the Ministry creeped her out. For the first time in her life she was really scared.

Jessie turned to the one person she trusted to make all the creepiness go away.

"Dammit, wake up already," she muttered at her bedside.

A physical scan showed that Hermione's internal temperature had risen significantly in the last hour. She was burning at 45 degrees Celsius, a physiologic impossibility for survival. What now?

She put her wand over Hermione and dispersed a cooling spell. It enveloped her and not a second after it did, Hermione stirred, coming out of her coma straight into a delirious state.

"Hugo..." Hermione was moaning, "Harry..."

XXXXXXXXXX

The Pitch

Ginny woke up from a bad dream. All she could remember about it was that it was a scene from the Battle of Hogwarts more than two decades ago. Voldemort had just declared that Harry was dead and Hagrid set down Harry's limp body in front of everyone. Only in the dream, when she looked closely it wasn't Harry but Al, and Al was really dead.

Tried as she might she couldn't get her heart and her mind to settle down. It was two a.m. Harry's hand on her special clock had been fixed on 'mortal danger' since his call last night. Al's had been stuck there too since he first left the Pitch. It bugged her that it hadn't changed.

She donned on her housecoat and walked down the hall to the room next to hers. Al's night light was on, his figure restful as he slept. He had been so quiet since Gates brought him back. He barely spoke when she gave him an earful and didn't speak during dinner. Al had never gotten himself into this much trouble before and it worried her that she had been too hard on him.

Ginny decided that she would speak to him in the morning, also to tell him, James and Lily about what was happening at the Ministry. It was better that they hear about their father's sacking from her because Merlin only knew what lies the media would be fed. Already she got a call from the Prophet Editor-In-Chief, strongly suggesting an indefinite leave of absence. Her job was the least of her worries at the moment

Somewhat reassured that Al was okay, she went back to bed but couldn't sleep as she cycled through the same thoughts that prevented her from falling asleep last night. She should have told Harry that Gates brought Al and Rosie back and that the Canadian went through his cloak collection. But Harry had too much on his mind at that time. She would have to tell Harry the next time they spoke.

The memory of her latest encounter with Gates made her want to vomit. She felt no deep appreciation for his escorting Al back home knowing he had some ulterior motive for doing it. Her main concern was getting him out of the Pitch as soon as possible and there was great satisfaction that Gates came up empty handed.

There was a knock on her door. It was Ann. She had been crying and Ginny had never known her sister-in-law to cry.

"Is Ron okay?!" she asked wide eyed, her imagination going into overdrive and thinking the worst.

"No. Seamus just called. One of his sources at the Ministry said Ron has been arrested," she said, trying to mask her panic within, "In the morning there will be orders to arrest Harry and Ted too. The Wizengamot is convening and who knows what will happen. They won’t let me talk to my husband. Can they do that?”

Ginny wasn’t sure, “I don’t know. We’ll ask Percy.”

“Seamus suggests that we leave London, until things get sorted out. Should we? I don’t want to leave Ron here but I’m afraid for Rosie and the twins. What are we going to do? Where are we going to go?"

Ginny thought for a moment then answered, "Call Tory and tell her what's happened. I'll let Bill know. He won't mind having us at Shell Cottage."

Ann left. Ginny called Bill, all the while thinking about staying. Jericho had caved in to the pressure and was fighting for political survival. It was the worse time for British leadership to be this unstable. She wanted to be in London where she could make a difference but if things went wrong she wasn't sure she could keep the children safe.

She needed to talk with someone. She could do that after taking the family to Shell Cottage. She quickly dressed and as she got out of her bedroom she saw Rosie follow Ann down the staircase. Al was in the corridor. Something was very wrong.

"Al?" she was puzzled, she didn't quite understand why he had his wand in his hand.

It dawned on her that it wasn't Al even before his appearance changed. Standing before her was a being, an elf but from somewhere else. And he wasn’t just any elf. He was an elf who spoke good English.

“We need to rouse the children.”

“Who are you? Where is my son?!”

"My name is Magino-o. Albus Severus is safe. Your Ministry leadership is compromised, its upper ranks infiltrated by dishonorable beings who will stop at nothing to be in power. Your husband is deemed an enormous threat to the fruition of their dastardly plans. This is why your other children are now in grave danger,” the being pointed to her clock which had changed suddenly, “My task is to keep them alive and to do that we need to leave. You are welcome to come too."

"No! I don't care who you are! You are not taking my children anywhere! And you are going to bring me back my son!"

"Mrs. Potter, do not let my diminutive size lull you into a sense of superiority. I am a trained law enforcement officer and a free elf. You are in no position to bargain."

"Do you have children?!"

"No."

"Well, I do! So don't let my lack of combat experience lull you into a sense of complacency! I will do what it takes to protect my children!"

The elf blushed, flustered at her reaction, "Mrs. Potter, I am on your side. That is what I am trying to do. Warren did say you were going to be difficult."

That bastard! He crossed the line with this one!

The chime sounded. There was someone at the door. The one guised as Rosie looked up from the bottom of the staircase, telling Magino-o who the visitor was.

"It's Dovalov," the other elf said with concern, "What do we do?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Knockturn Alley

Like most days the Jugular was attended by cloaked beings, their faces hidden under the shadows of their hoods, minding no one's business but theirs.

One such wizard occupied a booth in the corner farthest from everyone else. He was fidgeting, waiting, his patience wearing thin. He was nervous, his palms sweating all over the tiny round object in his hand.

Finally he saw him, the man he was to meet. The older wizard saw him too and sat in front of him, immediately chastising him as expected.

"You shouldn't have called!"

"I had to!"

"We can't be seen together!"

"Take it," he shoved the yellow object into the newcomer's hand, "I've done what I can."

The other answered, "It's not my job."

He knew that but he hoped there was some other way. He hesitated and tried to plead his case.

"You don't understand. I can't lie. They will find out..."

"You don’t have a choice," the older one stated without emotion.

"These are my friends, my family. It will be impossible to go back to the way things are."

"You should have thought about that before you agreed," the older wizard shoved the object back into his hand and looked him in the eye, "You can do this. I have to go."

"Max!"

But the Head Unspeakable was gone. He opened his hand, hoping the sight of the object would give him ideas about what to do with it. He sat for sometime watching the worn out Snitch flutter weakly before expending whatever little stored energy it had.

XXXXXXXX

Luneta Park, Manila

Clanging noises and screaming voices woke Harry up. He was sitting on cold, cement steps, propped up against the base of a statue. A nearby roller coaster ride was causing the intermittent ruckus. It was dark where he was, save for lamp that flickered yellow light on the other side of the monument. With the awareness came a killer of a headache from the bump on the back of his head. Earlier, as he fell, he had hit his head on something hard and blacked out.

Assessing his surroundings Harry noticed several Muggles passing by, paying him no attention. He was under an Invisibility Cloak which looked exactly like the one Hermione sent him for his last birthday. He scanned to his right, then his left, looking for Hugo. Where was the kid? He was so sure he pushed Hugo out of the line of fire in time. Did he make it out?

There were footsteps approaching him from his right. He gripped the wand in his hand and aimed it at the stranger.

“It’s me,” it was Hugo in another Muggle disguise, a local man in his twenties.

Harry was relieved to see him. Hugo took the cloak and slipped it into his rucksack.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes," he did look like he was. Hugo continued, "You got hit. I did as much as I could.”

Hugo was referring to his leg. Harry moved and immediately felt intense pain shoot up from his right one. He looked down through the tear in his trousers and saw a bullet wound in the belly of his thigh. It was a deep puncture and wasn't bleeding anymore but his bone had shattered and had not healed yet. He got up and gently put weight on it, to test it out. Whatever Hugo did would at least allow him to stand and maybe walk on his own.

“I had to move you before I could finish. I think they’re scanning the area for magical activity and I didn’t want to risk using my wand unless absolutely necessary,” he explained further.

“The Professor-"

"I just saw her. She's shaken but okay. She got out before the tent collapsed. Muggle emergency crew are there," Hugo explained, implying that the Seer would be safe.

"How did you get me out?"

"I dragged you out," Hugo replied then steered his attention towards a group of people heading their way, "Over there. Muggle police doing their sweep. They can't find us. Malvado has spies everywhere. Best to avoid getting Muggles involved in a fight"

Harry didn't want that either, not in such a densely populated event.

"Anti-Disapparition wards," Harry guessed.

His son nodded, "Can you break through them?"

He grabbed Hugo by the arm and tried. They budged an inch. He could keep trying but they had to have a back up plan. Hugo read his mind.

They ambled down the steps and headed for the fair exit but found uniformed men at the gates. Harry tapped Hugo and motioned him to the opposite direction, changing his appearance and clothes as they blended into the crowd that just arrived. With difficulty, he limped badly behind Hugo, trusting his son's lead as he kept an eye on the policemen on their heels.

They ended up within the flow of people heading for the large, dome tent with bright lights and loud fanfare music. When they got in it was packed. About two thousand were in attendance most of whom were looking up as the dwarf-sized ringmaster dressed in a tailcoat and top hat directed everyone's attention to the high flying acrobats on the elevated stage above.

There was a commotion at the entrance. A handful of uniforms came in and began making their way through the audience. Harry and Hugo moved away from the doors hoping to blend in with the constant traffic in the outside aisle.

"Backstage," Harry told Hugo who nodded and led him down the most direct path to where the clowns, jugglers and other ground acts were coming from, hoping to exit that way.

Then, in the midst of gasps from the audience as a tightrope walker almost fell, something struck him. Harry was overcome with an overwhelming unpleasant sensation and the bitter taste of immense hatred. The image of Hugo in his current state came to mind, only his son was walking towards him. The scene played out for him in slow motion, frame by frame. He looked up ahead past Hugo who was oblivious to what was before them and saw the source of the bilious thoughts, Salazar Malvado, wand drawn out and muttering a curse intended for his son.

Before he could react Hugo was floating, his extremities being pulled in opposing directions, his agonizing scream drowned by applause. Muggles close by noticed; many thought it was part of the act. In one motion Harry had his weapon out and blasted the Dark Wizard off his feet, sending him soaring up and back, disappearing in the mass of people behind.

The strike broke the spell and Harry broke Hugo's fall in time. He quickly surveyed their perimeter. Quite a few locals, realizing that something was amiss, were running around, obstructing his view of where Malvado landed. Right near the exits policemen were battling against the sea of humanity in a mad rush for the doors, their guns pointed in the air, yelling at him to put his hands up. Harry disarmed and Petrified them, and then emptied their weapons, firing successive shots into the roof. Full blown chaos followed, Harry's very intention, to clear the tent of civilians. Malvado would attack again.

He got to Hugo just as the teenager was attempting to get up, his wand ready.

"Where did he go?!" his son asked with every intention to fight.

Harry told him, preferring to take him to safety first, and he had this very small window of opportunity to do that, "We have to leave!"

"No!"

"We are not going to argue about this!"

"So let's not!"

"This is not the place or time!"

A flash of a green death curse was headed their way. Harry took Hugo by his collar and moved him out of its path, the curse missing his son by an inch. The wave of the spell smashed through the pillar behind them and sent the hundred foot elevated stage to its side and onto the ground, crushing everything under it. Dust billowed around them as the curse curved back like a boomerang and headed straight for Hugo. Harry redirected it, sending it back to its origin.

Malvado did not even bother blocking the spell. He absorbed the killing curse and attacked again, this time with a succession of high voltage electrical discharges. Harry conjured a shield to hold the incoming assault while Hugo counter attacked with Stunners. The last two stung Malvado somewhat, giving Harry the opening he needed. Figuring that if a killing curse couldn’t hurt the dark wizard, offensive spells would be useless, Harry transformed the energies from Malvado’s electrical onslaught into a spherical restraining field, encasing the Dark Wizard. Being caged made Malvado angrier.

“There is not a prison that can hold me!”

Harry and Hugo watched as he walked through the visible bars and got zapped, convulsing from the extreme currents that coursed through his body. His robes then burst into flames, his figure burning into this huge ball of fire. When the flames finally died out, a charred Malvado was still standing. He shook off his just acquired charcoal gray exterior and gained new skin and clothes.

Interesting...

Malvado ran his free hand through his singed hair and came away with a handful pissed.

"I hate being bald!"

The Dark Wizard fired. Harry easily blocked it and was about to go on his own offensive when he tasted the bitter dark emotion again. Prepared to counter, he was caught off guard that the curse came from an unexpected wizard.

"Avada K-k-ked-"

Yellow light shot out of Hugo's weapon even without completing the incantation. It found Malvado’s chest.

“K-k-ked? You’d have to do better than that, boy!” Malvado howled, mocking Hugo.

Hugo was shaking, pale, eyes transfixed and wand still pointed at Malvado. Stunned himself, Harry was at a loss about what to say. He was conflicted; does he rebuke or does he encourage his son for his first attempted murder? Both seemed inappropriate even if it was to kill a dark wizard.

“Let me show you how it’s done,” the Dark Wizard boasted.

A prepared Harry deflected it easily, finally earning Malvado’s attention.

“Potter, I have no quarrel with you.”

“Too bad. I have a problem with you.”

“Stay out of my business or I will kill you, too.”

“If you know me well enough to know my name, seriously, asshole, do you think your threat will work?”

In general, assholes didn’t like being called assholes. Malvado was no exception. Their foe sent a barrage of strikes. He shielded Hugo and countered but was now mainly concerned about the teenager being hit by crossfire. Hugo still seemed listless from what just happened and wasn't himself.

It was obvious that Malvado was invincible just as Warren had claimed he was. Harry needed to think more about how to defeat this particular opponent. Not counting Voldemort, he had not encountered anyone like Malvado before. He could only hope Horcruxes or Hallows or something similar to them were involved, something that made Malvado impervious to injury that he could eliminate to make the Dark wizard mortal. He would rather think that was the case for the alternative was somewhat unimaginable. The Hag mentioned the book. She said Hugo likely knew where the book was.

More wandfire headed their way and Harry parried off each and every one of them. He mapped out an escape as he and Malvado duelled. Then someone yelled from the entrance of the tent.

"Nobody move!"

It was the South Asian Magical Police, about two dozen of them. Half the wands were aimed at Malvado and half on them.

“Arrest them all!”

Malvado cackled. Harry sensed trouble. Suggestive spells soaked the air and there was confusion within the ranks of the SAMP.

"I would duck if I were you," Malvado suggested.

Harry felt the first wave of hexes and dove, taking Hugo down with him. Curses flew as SAMP duelled against SAMP, most shooting at them and some trying to stop the other. Through the chaos Harry saw Malvado walk out of the tent uncontested. He calmly assessed their options. They could stay and deal with the SAMP arresting them, or they could fight their way out.

Over in the corner unseen by the others he saw a figure waving at them like a madman. It was the ringmaster ushering them over to where he was. Two-thirds of his body was below a trap door leading somewhere underground.

He quickly decided, directing Hugo towards the exit. His son went in first. He followed, closing the door after him.

"Come! Quick!" the dwarf beckoned them, "No talking!"

They were in a man-made tunnel, tight, able to fit two people standing upright but just barely. Their guide had a flashlight in his hand and started running away. He and Hugo lit their wands and followed him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Finnigan’s, Diagon Alley

Neville clutched his wand in his pocket tightly, his heart going crazy. He followed Ernie into a somewhat crowded Finnigan's and looked over towards the bar, finding Seamus there with his barkeeper.

"Hey Seamus," Ernie greeted sombrely after Seamus got off the phone.

"What will you gents have?" Seamus asked.

He eyed both of them with worry as they remained on their feet and didn't answer.

"We need to talk," Ernie spoke up for them, for Neville couldn't trust himself to not burst out with accusations, "in private."

Seamus understood but was seemingly acting normally, at least normal for someone who had hexed him. Parv had unlocked the memory of what happened earlier that day at Hogwarts. It was Seamus who cursed him then took the Snitch. Neville was certain about that but Hannah proposed that it could have been someone who looked like or was pretending to be Seamus. The only way to find out was to confront him so Neville called Ernie to help him sort it out.

Their friend motioned them around and to the back into the busy Finnigan kitchen. On their way through the crowd Neville overheard patrons discussing the headlines of the afternoon Prophet. On the one hand he was ecstatic that Hermione was alive but he wished she stuck around to answer all the questions. The train of thought got pushed aside as Seamus met them at the swinging doors, led them to his office and closed the door behind them.

The strategy they had decided on was to accuse first then apologize, if they had to, later. Taking his cue from Ernie, Neville pulled his wand out from his pocket and aimed it at Seamus as the other turned to face them. Unexpectedly, Seamus too had his wand out. It was pointed straight at Ernie.

"Drop it Seamus!" Neville shot him a warning, his weapon shaking in his hand.

"You're getting this all wrong," Seamus replied calmly, unflinching, his eyes remaining on Ernie as he did.

"You took the Snitch!" Neville accused.

"I didn't. You did. The Snitch isn't yours."

Seamus had a good point but it was somewhat insulting that he never looked Neville's way. The Hogwarts professor was so tempted to curse him, if only to prove to Seamus that he was capable of hexing him just as Ernie was.

"And it's yours?" Ernie challenged and when no answer came, continued, "Where is it, Seamus? In your safe?"

The bar owner's gaze flitted to a painting of the St. Petersburg Hermitage Museum on the wall behind Ernie and it drew their attention. Then, a sudden explosion nearby made Neville reflexively crouch down. The room was thrown into darkness.

"Don't let him leave!" Ernie screamed.

Fuelled by adrenaline Neville sprang from his feet and jumped the silhouette at the door, sending them both to the floor with a loud thud.

Ernie bellowed, "Get off me!"

"Sorry," he apologized for the mistake.

Neville picked himself up. Light filled the office as the office door creaked ajar. The split second distraction was all Seamus needed. The hidden safe behind the picture was wide open. It was empty and Seamus was gone.

XXXXXXXX

Underground, near Luneta Park

After minutes of running through twists and turns the dwarf led them up some wooden rickety steps and out an old door. They stench of horse dung was unmistakable; they were in an abandoned stable. Their guide just about shoved them out onto the empty cobblestone street. They were in some tourist site shut down for the day.

"You can use magic travel from here," they were informed.

"Thank you. What is your name?" Harry asked.

The dwarf snapped at him, "Not important. Tell Gates to leave me alone. We're even."

Harry thought that was abrupt. They thanked their reluctant rescuer anyway as he disappeared back into the tunnel.

Harry looked at Hugo and asked, "Are you okay?"

His son nodded.

"We're going back to Grimmauld."

There were no arguments for once. Harry created a Portkey from a soda bottle and as soon as Hugo's hand wrapped around its neck, he activated it. Seconds later they were inside Grimmauld. Hugo let go of the Portkey and went up to stairs to see his mother.

Harry was not far behind, though hampered somewhat as the absence of adrenaline made his injury scream for attention. When he got there a restless Hermione was being restrained to her bed. He watched as Hugo sat beside her and held her hand, his touch calming his mother somewhat. He joined Jessie on the other side of the bed.

Jessie told him even before he asked, "High fever. Can't make sense of it. Had to tie her down so she wouldn't hurt herself. She needs a proper Healer. You need to decide."

He acknowledged but couldn’t do that just yet. Tears were running down Hugo’s cheeks as he tried to soothe his Mum. It was very hard to see her and Hugo this way, more so because he felt like an outsider and there was not much he could do.

"Harry...Harry.."

Her calling out his name only pulled at his heartstrings even more. She sounded like she was in pain, a cry for help which he wanted to answer desperately.

Jessie cleared her throat, "It's just her fever talking."

Harry didn't care. He was by her side gripping her other hand, noticing how hot it was.

"I'm here," he said to her.

He felt Hugo leave. Jessie followed the teenager out of the room leaving Hermione with him. Yes, he had so much to do but he needed this moment with her. He felt so drained, so tired, and while it had been a long while since, being with her always gave him strength and purpose in whatever he did. She didn't have to say anything. Her being there for him was always enough.

With his free hand he gently brushed her brown locks off her face. Tears pooled in his eyes as he remembered the last time he touched her this way and the years of wanting to do it but not being able to. Being this close brought back many emotions and many memories, stuff he had not thought about in a very long time.

He began talking.

“Hey. It’s me. I’m not really sure if you can hear me but it’s been a while since we really talked and I’m not sure if I’ll ever get another chance to say this to you. I’ve met Hugo, well, I’ve known him since he was a baby but, you know what I mean. He’s a good kid. I’m getting to know him better. We’ve had some challenging moments as you can imagine, and I think because he is so like me in many ways,” he paused as an image of what her reaction could have been came to mind and he couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yeah, I know, it’s about time I had a dose of what a pain I can be so wipe that smirk off you face.”

Taking a deep breath in and out, he continued, his voice soft, quivering from trying to control the flood of emotions dying to burst from within and his tears brimming over as he spoke straight from his heart, “What I really want to say is I understand why you didn’t tell me, I understand why you thought it was the right thing to do. But dammit Hermione. He's my son. And I know you didn’t want to be the other woman and you didn’t want Hugo to grow up like your sister but I can’t help but think how things could have been so different had you just told me. I love you. I barely lived past letting you go and you know it would have taken so little for me to come back. He is our son - our son. Even as I say it now it brings so much joy in me, so unimaginable that I still can’t believe it’s true. Nothing would have kept me away. I would have made it okay and it kills me that you didn’t trust me enough to know that I would. And considering what I put you through I only have myself to blame. I understand. I can’t blame you for not wanting me back.”

He clasped her hand with both of his and pulled it gently closer to him, closing his eyes, his shoulders shaking as he broke down. Saying it out loud was much tougher that he imagined it would be. In the past, with Hermione, words weren’t as important. Much would have remained unsaid.

Harry didn’t know for how long but he finally stopped sobbing, still raw but spent. Noticing how much cooler she was he looked up at her and as he did, her eyes slowly fluttered open. There were fresh tears on her face. She must have heard. Seeing her anguish tore him apart.

They gazed at each other lovingly, holding hands, grieving their loss, weeping quietly.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know. Cruel and evil.

It wasn’t the HHr scene I had imagined for more than a year but it is what came out with blood, sweat and tears (well, the last one anyway – must remember to bring Kleenex on the subway ride). A few have been suggesting that I should write more Harry POV. Personally I think he is being silly to think that Hermione didn’t want him back.

Ginny – tragic to be married to someone you know loves someone else but I know many would think she got what she deserved. The sane thing to do would be to leave though letting go is easier said than done.

Hugo – I tried writing him to actually do the killing curse – it just didn’t feel right.

Kudos to those who have been guessing the twists and turns correctly.

As a final note for this chapter I wish to thank all of you who have been very patient with me in the past month. If not for your interest and support I would not be writing.

52. Four Years Ago

A/N. Your patience is admirable. RL has just been brutal lately.

I will be imposing on your patience even more. This chapter is about the last time Hermione and Harry were in London four years ago. This is the last chapter I will write about the past (I really hope I keep my word on that). I wanted to have a version of the post DH one shot Sacrifice in Harry’s POV then the chapter just grew into this long back story of how things stood between them before Hermione left London. It took so long to write because Harry always gives me such a hard time. :J If he seems to have a split personality here it was intentional lol!

Does the chapter advance the plot in any way? No. It’s an entirely optional read. I know many will hate me for taking so long to post and then post something like this. My apologies for making you wait one more for the present stuff.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 52 – Four Years Ago

31 July 2017

"Happy Birthday!" a blonde in a striking red dress greets me, her voice carrying over the music playing at Finnigan's.

She leans forward and gives me a kiss on the cheek, showing more of her as she does. Ron, who happens to be standing beside me, has quite a view and almost chokes on his drink. Her name is Brigid Tinkerfinkle, gossip columnist for the Prophet. I welcome her and her escort, Prophet Editor-In-Chief Lance Elliot, pointing them over in the general direction of where I last saw Ginny entertaining some guests.

"Bloody hell," my red headed friend swears, his sights following the witch off to where Ginny is, "How come nobody like that ever comes to my birthday parties? And all I get are hugs and kisses from smelly old relatives and batty neighbors."

"I'll tell Ann to invite her to your next one," I answer him.

"Fat chance she'll say yes. I don't know why that woman still doesn't trust me after five years."

"Probably because you actually want scantily clad half-Veela witches you don't know to come to your birthday party," I point out.

Ron ignores what I said, "You can't possibly see it my way. It's so bloody unfair that my sister trusts you unconditionally."

I look at the huge crowd. Most of them are from the Ministry, some from the Prophet and a handful of the Hogwarts gang. I don't like parties for myself; never have, never will. The night is still young. I can't wait for this to be over.

"Pull your face up. She's looking this way," Ron nudges me from the back with the warning.

I look across the room at Ginny with an attempt to feel more upbeat. The charade is pointless. My wife has, over time, gotten to know me better. In the last hour, tired of playing appreciative host, I've been inching my way towards my kind of crowd. She returns to her conversation with a Wizengamot neophyte, Gilderoy Quackster, or I think it's him. (I'd sooner remember a crook's face than a politician's, although Hermione had pointed out during one testy proceeding that some Wizengamot members were the worst criminals.)

I sigh. Ron slaps me a couple of times on the back to, "Cheer up, mate. It's not like she's going to give you a hard time. It's your birthday."

I nod. Ginny never does. It just makes me feel bad knowing she tries so hard. This social aspect of my job is my least favorite part of it. I'd rather do without it all together. I get it that it's necessary. I told her I'd be fine with almost anything but a big fuss birthday party. But she firmly believes that being Head Auror there is no escaping it so today, a big fuss birthday party is exactly what I'm having. It's very important to her that I do, at least more important than it is to me to not have one.

"I haven't seen Ann. Is she coming?" I ask Ron about his better half.

He motions over to the bar with a somewhat surly expression on his face. Ann is with the gir - women of the gang engaged in very animated conversation. Ernie, Neville, Seamus and Terry join us, pints in hand, with the same disapproving look Ron is wearing. Even though Ginny isn't with their wives I feel for them. With our busy lives the gang rarely meets outside of family and kid parties but when our thirty-something wives get together and let loose like tonight, things can get kind of um - out of control.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Terry asks insecurely, as Padma laughs with Jessie and Hannah.

"They're comparing notes on us, what else?" Seamus pouts.

"We should do the same thing to them, make them know how it feels, show them we can play their game too," Ron rallies the troops. We all look at him like he's gone mad. He eventually sees the futility of his suggestion, "Fine. So we can't fight their fire with fire."

"It's just not fair."

"It sucks."

"Yup."

"Big time."

We answer one after the other, bringing the comfort of ice cold ale to our mouths. Typically our pouting lasts briefly. We have very short memories and realize that no matter how good we are, our partners will always compare notes and there will always be something they will want us to work on, in plain view or otherwise. We aren't husbands if we aren't works in progress.

The women, used to us being pre-occupied with our own diversions (I.e. Quidditch), are oblivious to our scrutiny. They suddenly burst out giggling like school girls. Susan appears to be chairing the meeting and was directing their attention to the packed dance floor. We all assume the same but are too proud and maybe a tad insecure to check out who they are checking out.

"Susan in between boyfriends again?" Terry asks.

"Desperately seeking. She wants a mature, sensitive, man in his thirties, preferably someone who doesn't own a pair of tidy-whities," Neville rattles off, then adds somewhat embarrassed about his knowledge of details, "I overheard her and Hannah talking - many times."

Seamus had enough, "We should break them up before she does irreparable damage to our women."

"Good idea," Terry replies and starts walking towards the bar declaring, "I'm not giving up my right to wear white underwear."

Susan, mostly by happenstance and sometimes by choice, lives kind of a 'wild' single’s life. She is an open book. Her married girlfriends experience situations vicariously through her and more often than not her tales cause some revelation to her friends that they are missing something in their marriages, which invariability would be their husband's shortcoming. It isn't all bad. Sometimes the new knowledge does spark dry dead wood in her friends' long term relationships.

I notice Ron hanging back.

"Are you coming?" I ask.

With a deep frown, his gaze is glued to a couple on the dance floor. I follow his stare and the sight jars me for a second. It has been ten years but I still get momentarily winded everytime I see her with another bloke. Logical thought usually follows, along with a deep-seated, gut wrenching reality check which almost always sets me straight.

"She looks like she's happy." Ron states matter-of-factly.

Ron sure is in some weird mood tonight. I see Hermione smiling up at her dance partner as the latter holds her in his arms. It is an irritating sight and I feel my face flush on its own accord.

Inarguably, Ron is right. Tonight she looks like she is happy. She'll be floored when she finds out Ron noticed. He breaks my train of thought.

"Josh seems a nice enough bloke."

"Uh-huh."

"What does he teach?"

"Art and music to inner city troubled youth."

At least that's how the guy advertises himself. It's quite ingenious of him actually. It's instant likeability and acceptance. I just can't think why Hermione allows him to lie about something like that.

"A pair of bleeding hearts. He's perfect for her."

Conveniently perfect. I bring my mug to my mouth and take in a large gulp.

Ron continues, "She says they're just friends."

"Maybe they are."

"He's based in New York. Seems like an awful long way to come from just to see a friend."

Ron sometimes unwittingly comes up with good insight.

"Seems like," I answer back.

"This is the fifth time they've gone out. That's kind of a record for her. Do you think he's it?"

I have to have another drink. Actually, this particular guy and Hermione have been 'going out' on and off for years. And I seriously doubt that he's it because if he were, they'd have settled down ages ago. I tell Ron what I think.

"I don't think so."

"Well, I hope he's it," Ron confesses, which coming from Ron speaks a lot about how much he's matured, until he opens his trap and says something like, "I don't like seeing her with different men. I wish she'd settle down with one. It can't be good for Rosie or Hugo, growing up, seeing their Mum like this."

"What do you mean?"

"You know," Ron stammers, "That she has been with, you know...so many...like she's..."

"If you say 'scarlet woman' I am going to deck you," I say to him such that there isn't a shred of doubt that I mean it.

"I wasn't going to but geez, you're more sensitive about it that she is."

Ron can still be such an ass when it comes to women he cares about. In my opinion there’s nothing wrong with what Hermione is doing. She is free to date whoever she wants, whenever, however and for however long. Unlike Ron I recognize the lack of merit of Hermione 'settling down' and conforming to some expected norm just so people, particularly exes, wouldn't judge her. I feel the need to defend her.

"She'll settle down if and when she decides to settle down," I tell him and the part of me who needs to hear it, "Maybe she prefers being on her own. Whatever makes her happy."

"I suppose you're right," he pulls back.

I’m still a bit ticked, "And there hasn't been that many."

That was to get Ron off her case and maybe to make me feel a bit better. I don't know the exact number of men she has gone out with apart from the various versions of 'Josh' and I don't know what would qualify as 'so many'. I meant what I said about being supportive of whatever makes her happy but this particular aspect of her happiness does always elicit a Dr. Jekyll-Mr. Hyde reaction within me.

Sometimes, in spite my defence of her choice to remain unattached, I do wish that she’ll settle down, but for reasons entirely different from Ron's. I want her to find someone she’ll allow into her life completely. She deserves to be loved. And, as painful a thought as it is, I want her to find someone who loves her who she can love back like she once loved me.

A couple of years ago, annoyed at how Jessie kept setting her up with ‘good men of faith’, I overheard her rant about how she doesn't have to be with someone to be happy. She saiid that happiness does not exclusively happen within the confines of a meaningful relationship and pointed out that being in a meaningful relationship does not always translate into happiness. She was speaking from experience.

She has a good point but I have always been of the opinion that while happiness can exist outside of a meaningful relationship, there is nothing like happiness within one; and I'm speaking from experience too. She obviously does not remember the time we were together the way I do. It bugs me that she doesn't but there's not much I can do to change what she thinks.

I blame myself for her lack of interest in commitment and although it’s her choice it's hard to be completely okay with it. I feel responsible that she's short changing herself on the basis of one asshole and that she’ll miss something big even when it's staring her right in the face.

But there is also a part of me, the 'Mr.Hyde', who selfishly doesn't want her seeing other men at all, particularly the one she's with right now. On the one hand I understand she has physiologic necessities but on the other hand rational thinking can only take me so far. Jealousy is such an untamable beast, unmindful of my lack of right to feel so. I think it's because it grates on me that she has needs I can’t fill.

It has been a decade to the day since 'us'. I still love her of course, cursed horse and all. I finally understand what she meant about that. I love her with a love that requires nothing to exist; I don't have to see her, I don't have to spend time with her, I don't have to say that I love her and I don't have to hear her say she loves me. It's a love that cares not that there isn't anything to look forward to and it's one that expects nothing in return. And although I miss being with her it's the kind that doesn't even need the intimacy one would think is necessary to keep love like this going. It defies reason; it defies common sense. My love for her is above all that. It just is, cursed because it can't ever be fully expressed to the one person I would like to express it to the most.

I have pretended I don't care about her that way. I can lie to the rest of the world but I can't lie to myself. Although I don't feel raging, primal desire every time I see her there are times when I do want her. Certain triggers, like a careless touch, an intrusive memory, or seeing her with another man, set it off.

While I realize what kind of a husband that makes me it is beyond me to change how I feel. It is my recognition of my love for her that keeps me sane through bouts of longing and keeps me steadfast about the choice that I made. The memories of those days have jaded somewhat, even some of the reasons why we are where we are but the anguish I put her through remains as potent a reminder. I swore to myself, to her and to Ginny that I would never cross that line again.

I don’t think about the ‘what could have been’ anymore. It won't change what is and not thinking about it is the only way we can get our friendship back to where it once was. Right now we’re close friends, partners in the fight against different sorts of evil. Most days I am at peace with that. And during the days I'm not, I remind myself that I have so much in my life to be thankful for.

Ron taps my shoulder and starts making his way through the crowd. I follow him, thanking other well wishers on our way to the gang. Hermione and her date are now at the bar too.

“Josh,” Ron extends his hand.

The other man takes it and Ron pulls him aside to engage him in ‘man’ talk. He gives me a look, motions me to distract his ex-wife. I turn to Hermione.

"Drink?"

"Yes," she repllies.

I motion the bartender over. He takes her order and I ask him for another pint. We take the empty seats at the far end of the bar where we are somewhat obscured from plain view by the rest of the gang and have a bit of privacy.

“How are you holding up?” she asks, accepting the margarita from the barkeep and takes a generous sip.

“Are my gums bleeding yet?” I reply as the bartender hands me my refill.

She chuckles and says, “It’s not that bad.”

“I’ll throw you a party in September.”

She hates birthday parties for her as much as I hate them for me. She's wondering if I’m serious.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I just might,” I tease her but I can’t contain my grin. I wouldn't do that to her, "How was the trip back?"

She was just in Perth and still travels Muggle whenever she visits her Mum.

"Not bad."

"Kids having fun at Grandma's?"

She tells me how they've taken up surfing and how both are way much better at it that she ever will be. Her face glows as she talks about Rosie and Hugo. They mean the world to her. While I’m listening I do notice something a bit off about her but I can't place a finger on it - yet.

"All set for the Bahamas?"

She deflects our conversation over to me. She does this sometimes when something is up and she doesn't want us talking about it. I decide to give her space, for now.

"Ginny and the kids leave tomorrow. I'll be joining them Thursday, maybe Wednesday if I'm lucky."

"How long will you be gone?"

"Three weeks. Ron and Ann are coming next week with Rosie."

"I heard. Whenever she talks about Quidditch camp she talks about how this year she's going to 'kick Al's butt', her words not mine," she throws up her hands in exasperation, "Honestly, if she didn't look so much like me I'd have doubts she's mine."

"She's just psyching herself up for her Seeker rematch against Al. It's normal," I try to convince her that it's not a big deal.

It always amuses me how Rosie gets to her so easily with the littlest things when she can keep it together dealing with the worst jerks she meets on the job. Rosie is stubborn and opinionated like her, but also inherited Ron's lack of sensitivity about many important things, which drives Hermione nuts.

"Normal? At eleven?"

"She's precocious. It's her competitive nature which she gets a double dose from you and Ron."

"That doesn't give her the excuse to be rude. Promise me you'll teach her and the others proper manners at your camp."

"I always do. We came up with this pamphlet, Quidditch Etiquette. It tells Beaters to keep Bludgers off all players, Chasers to try not to score too much, Keepers to allow Quaffles to go past them once in a while and Seekers to always have a good clean chase after the Snitch. After all, the camp vision is to tell kids that Quidditch is not a contact sport."

"Charming," she replies at my attempt at humour.

She has valiantly resisted the urge to start a diatribe against wizarding worlds most favourite past time. Too bad - I miss her rants.

"Hugo is welcome to come too, you know."

"He can't. He's attending this Muggle sports summer camp his school friends are going to."

"Never played it myself but I hear cricket is awesome, and all that fun he'll have with croquet. He must be excited."

"Pardon me for what I'm about to say O most arrogant Quidditch god has-been," she smirks and makes what she firmly believes is an excellent point, "Just because the likelihood of ending up in a hospital is less in cricket or croquet, it doesn't mean they are lesser sports than Quidditch."

I chuckle; I'm getting my rant after all.

"I beg to disagree and I feel it my duty, as Quidditch god has-been, to address your ignorance. We can spend the entire night talking about all the other reasons why Quidditch rocks over any other sport in the world."

"Hmm," she grins over her drink, "I think we've actually done that."

"Yeah, you're right," I just remember the fond memory. It was some time ago, "But Hugo is going to croquet camp instead of Quidditch camp. It's obvious we have to do it again."

"Right. Well, for your information I did not force Hugo to sign up," she corrects my erroneous assumption, then continues, "He begged me to let him do this and I couldn't say 'no.' And it’s not exactly cricket or croquet he wants to join. His friends are into rugby and football."

Her face scrounges up as she mentions that and I have to laugh. Hermione is rarely fazed by anything with the exception of perceived dangers to her children, however unfounded they may be.

"It's not funny," she protests, quite worried, and justifies her anxiety to me, "He's so skinny. You should see him beside his Muggle friends. He could be badly hurt. I told him he's out of there the second he gets injured."

"He'll be fine," I try to reassure her, leaving out the part that knowing that, Hugo should be smart enough not to tell her he's hurt if he can avoid it.

"That's what Ron keeps saying. Why is it that you men are so cavalier about contact sports?"

"Because we’re men and we're tough," I smile as I get the very reaction I wanted from her even though she knows I’m just doing it for that, "Look at it this way. At least Hugo won’t be seventy-five feet off the ground trying not to fall off a broom or crash.”

“Gee, thanks. Now I’ll worry about Rosie too.”

"Admit it. You were going to worry anyway," I swing my arm over her shoulder and give it a brief squeeze to reassure her, "They'll be fine. And they're only young once."

"You're right," she sighs with acceptance, "They grow up so fast. I can't believe Al and Rosie are going to Hogwarts in September. Which reminds me. She now insists on being called 'Rose' and not 'Rosie'."

"Time flies," I agree, "And it will be Lily and Hugo in two years."

At my mention of our youngests I sense her tense up. I see the same conflict within her that I saw earlier and I don’t let it pass this time.

"Okay. What's wrong?"

"What do you mean?"

"Something's bothering you,” I reply and as she is about to deny it I add, “Don’t lie to me. You’re busted.”

She pretends to complain, “Can you at least pretend to not know and let me lie anyway?”

I'm not falling for any of your diversionary tactics,” I tell her.

"You do realize that with age you've turned into an annoying nag."

"I learned from the best. Cough it up."

"I will not let you bully me into a conversation just so you can avoid talking with other guests in your party," she is right and knows it too.

"Good one but I'm not falling for the guilt trip either," I am firm with her, "I won’t stop asking until you answer. What is it?”

She looks at me as if gauging if she should tell me or not, then decides.

"Not tonight."

"Yes, tonight," I insist.

"I promise I'll tell you. Just not tonight."

She's now serious, and I can only conclude one thing.

"It's that bad?"

"It’s your birthday. Not tonight," she repeats, saying as much.

Whatever it is it's probably about her kids. She said she'd tell me and I know she will so I let it go. Her attention shifts to Ron and her date, her eyes narrowing as she realizes what Ron is doing.

“For Merlin’s sake!” she hisses.

I take Ron's side, “He's just concerned.”

“I preferred it much more when he didn't care. This marriage to Ann is making him all soft and caring and it's so -," she tries to find the word.

"Not like him?” I help her out.

"Precisely."

"He's just looking after you."

"I'm a grown woman. I don't need looking after."

"Everybody needs looking after," I correct her.

That stumps her momentarily, maybe even annoys her a bit. She's stubborn about her independence and believes being looked after, especially by a man, impinges on her ability to fully exercise it.

"I'm not everybody," she replies, looking me straight in the eye, her way of telling me to back off.

She gets this way whenever we come close to talking about her relationships with other men or the old us. Lately, I've been tempted to push back. It is the one topic that has remained off limits between us and I want us to be able to eventually talk about it as openly as we used to.

I'm thinking about challenging her point about not needing someone to look after her. I want to remind her of the sobbing woman I held in my arms years ago, upset at the possibility of growing old without someone she'll love who'll love her back. I can't imagine that Hermione being totally gone.

But I can't summon the courage to bring up the past. I don't want to go there for fear that I might end up saying things that will make her think I haven't completely let go. And I prefer to believe that she is over me, that it's not the reason why she can't commit herself to another man.

"Right,” I back off, “Let him any way. It makes him feel better."

I chug the rest of my beer and ask the barkeep for firewhiskey. I'm disappointed in myself. I’m such a coward.

A tipsy Susan interrupts us, "Hey Hermione. You don't mind if I ask Josh for a dance or two, or three, do you?"

Ernie, Seamus and Terry have joined Ron. It's a full blown interrogation.

"Not at all," Hermione assured her, "You'll be saving him from the English inquisition."

"I think 'Josh' is enjoying the challenge," I state the obvious, ignoring her glare.

We watch Susan lead the 'teacher' onto the dance floor. I shake my head in disapproval.

"What?"

"That's just not right."

"They're just dancing," she sees nothing wrong with it, "He's harmless. He knows my friends are off limits."

"He should have come as himself."

"This is too public. I have enemies he'd rather maintain working relationships with and vice versa."

"If that's his reason for the charade then he's an asshole."

That was the firewhiskey talking.

She gives me an admonishing look for the name-calling, "Actually, it's mine. And he's a kid at heart. He secretly likes playing dress-up. Besides that, Ginny gets pissed whenever he's around."

The details make my gut churn. Does she have to go on and on about him? My hand lifts the shot glass to my mouth and I tip my head back. The drink burns all the way to my stomach, quashing the unpleasantness within it. I motion the barkeep for a refill.

I can’t help but say it.

"He'll always be a jerk when it comes to women."

She agrees, "Yes, he is rather consistent that way."

It bugs me how she can be okay about that. Warren is not good enough for her and she’s settling because he’s convenient, because like her he doesn’t care about commitment. That really bothers me and it bothers me why it bothers me so much. It shouldn’t because she’s getting what she wants. I assume it is what she wants. Maybe I just need to hear her say it, to reassure me he's not taking advantage of her.

"If you know he's a jerk then why do you even go out with him?" I manage to ask in a neutral tone.

She thinks about it for a second then answers, choosing her words carefully, "Because he's a good friend and he’s good company."

Mr. Hyde surfaces, snarks in my mind, 'A good friend. Right. Heard that one before.'

I suppose that's how she wants to see it. I didn't really expect her to admit that she and Warren are friends with fringe benefits, or maybe that’s what she means by good company. My jaw tenses up. I’ll continue to be a hypocrite until I can make myself be completely okay that she sleeps with someone else.. I feel braver asking the question.

“And that's what you want?”

“Yes. It's what I want.”

This time she replies with no hesitation. Disappointment, jealousy and anger errupt within me. I was wrong; I didn’t really need to hear that.

She feels my internal outburst and tells me calmly, "You shouldn't ask questions you don't want to hear the answers to."

I nod and apologize, "I'm sorry, I thought I did. It's really none of my business."

“Let’s forget about it.”

That’s easier said than done.

I take another drink to swallow the lump in my throat as she empties her margarita. The bartender already has a fresh one for her. She thanks him, our awkward conversation quickly brushed aside.

"Come on," she's up on her feet, "I love Ginny's parties. There's always free press."

And she means more than freedom of the press.

We 'work' the room. Over time we, mostly Hermione, have used the press to direct public attention to ongoings at the Ministry we felt required highlighting and to divert attention away from those that had to be downplayed. In the current administration, even as our roles shifted from policy makers to policy auditors, the principles remained the same.

All of this is part of the game. But even though it is accepted practice in my line of work it doesn’t come easily for me. Hermione says it’s my innate moral fiber that won't let me manipulate truths to meet an end. In contrast, Hermione has no scrupples.

While many in the Wizengamot continue to think it natural for me to become Minister of Magic one day, a lot are already resigned to the fact that I have no desire or inclination for the job. It is also common knowledge that Hermione was Kingsley's understudy, current Minister included. Leo retained her in his Ministry to keep her close and to appease the opposition with the assurance that they have strong representation in his cabinet. If she stays in government, it is only a matter of time before she becomes Minister of Magic though I admit, I am somewhat biased thinking that.

In the next hour she steers a comment on the popularity of the Minister's impressive tax cuts, putting a spotlight on the savings he made by underfunding social programs and grossly underestimating budgetary shortfalls in his 5 year economic plan. She even pokes fun at Leo's financial advisers telling one reporter that collectively they would have flunked fifth grade Muggle math. I have to caution her a few times as it seems she has no filters tonight.

We also find out for the first time that there are off the record plans to expand the already gigantic Department of Mysteries. I see her doing the calculations in her head and figure, as I have, that the cost of doing so is roughly the same galleon amount reallocated just today from the Department for the Protection of Magical Beings and Creatures budget that funded Being Education to some unnamed special projects account.

Elliot gets involved in the conversation, citing a remote incident of an Unspeakable caught stealing from the Ministry through bogus projects and asks what checks and balances are currently present in the DOM. Hermione shrugs despite knowing there are new accountability processes in place. She comments that it was a very good question that she, a concerned tax paying citizen and regular Prophet reader, would love to see in an editorial.

"What was that about?" I ask her after.

"I'm banking on the internal nature of Leo's fix to raise eyebrows in the transparency obsessed Prophet."

"You think Leo will let the MLE stick its nose in DOM affairs?"

"At this point in his administration he needs the Prophet and the appearance of transparency is important to him. The Prophet won't give him a choice."

I frown, concerned about this strategy, "Leo won't be amused. He'll figure out where the idea came from."

"I'm not exactly sticking around in his minority government for his amusement."

"You don't want him to fire you either."

"That's the least of my worries."

"Hermione..."

"Don't worry. He won't," she sounds pretty sure.

Just as she answers Brigid Tinkerfinkle appears, all smiles, the kind that clearly meant she was up to no good.

“Just the two people I wanted to talk to,” she announces.

“We’ve never met,” Hermione bluntly points out.

Hermione knows who she is but I introduce them anyway.

“You’re the one who writes that popular socials column in the Prophet,” Hermione says after.

“You read my column,” Brigid is surprised.

What Brigid writes, not that I read it much, isn’t exactly the kind of reading Hermione goes for. Brigid’s pieces can best be described as rumour mongering and sensationalism at its vilest. I only hope Hermione will be gentle. She knows better than to stoop to the reporter's level.

“Not really. I haven’t much time to read trash fiction.”

Brigid's face turns red. At least Hermione says it politely.

“What Hermione means is that she hardly has any time to read for pleasure,” I interject, “Are you enjoying the party?”

“Very much so. Too bad the Minister couldn’t make it.”

“He sent his regrets,” I reply.

“While I have you both here,” Brigid starts and there is no stopping her now, “I have some questions. You’ve known each other since childhood, you work very closely and are always seen together. Would either of you care to comment on stories that you two are having an affair?”

Hermione laughs and I figure I should too.

“You got us there. We’ve been having an affair for what is it now, Harry?” Hermione turns to me and I shrug, coherent speech escaping me as I think how badly this could go. She continues, “Thirteen years?”

“Just about.”

It is Ginny who answers. She stands beside me and hooks her arm around mine. Brigid’s eyes light up, thinking she just hit the mother lode. But she doesn’t know my wife and my ex-mistress.

“They’ve been having an affair and you’re okay with it?!” she asks Ginny.

Ginny obliges, “Why not? He's my husband. I don’t care what he does as long as at the end of the day he comes home to me.”

I’m fine with it too," Hermione responds before I can think of something clever to say, “Harry works very long days."

"I am the good wife.”

“And no matter what I do, I'll always be the other woman."

Shit...

“Okay, you two, stop pulling her leg, " I have enough, "Brigid is just doing her job."

But Brigid is kind of slow and will only hear what she wants to hear.

“This is great! How did it start?” is her follow-up question, looks to me for the answer.

Hermione fields the question, “Let me think. First it was Skeeter in 2004...”

Ginny adds, “...2008 and 2011, Whispery in 2007, Dufus in 2009, Shitford in 2013...”

“Then there was that Expose writer in 2015, what was her name?”

“Don’t remember,” Ginny shrugs, “Well, it’s 2017, I guess we’re due for another rumour.”

I never paid much attention to gossip about us and didn't realize until now that it happened that often. I didn’t think Ginny or Hermione paid attention to them either. Neither ever said anything to me to make it a concern.

“You can be part of that list,” Hermione tells the now embarrassed reporter, “You may be unoriginal but you are in very distinguished, albeit now unemployed, company.”

“Good luck,” Ginny adds.

Realizing she is overmatched, Brigid thanks us and leaves in a hurry.

“Was that necessary?” I scold them.

“No,” my wife answers, “But it was fun.”

Hermione doesn’t reply. I think her comment about being the other woman no matter what she does struck a raw chord. We get separated soon after and before I know it she and Warren are leaving, something about catching a late night movie. She's not the movie-going type.

I don't see her at work the following day. Her new assistant (she goes through them faster than any one else I know), knows nothing except for the obvious that she isn't in.

I am swept away by meetings upon meetings and it's now almost eight. I'm still in my office up to my eyeballs in parchment work. Authorizations, transfers, mission approvals, extensions, re-approvals, terminations; it's endless. The need for so much of this still escapes me. Surely not all of this is absolutely necessary. I do want them done now so I won't have to when I'm vacationing with the kids. Hermione says I have to learn to delegate more. I might look into that when I get back from holidays.

As I magically sign off documents the hatch above my office door opens and in comes fluttering an inter-office parcel. It lands gently on top of my mail inbox. Considering that it's so late I can only think that it's one of those packages just cleared by Auror mail security, until I recognize the writing on it.

I find myself grinning as I take it and open it. At the party last night she did say I would get my present late. She must have sent it from home. It is light, rectangular and there is a card. She wrote:

'Happy belated birthday, Harry. Here's one from a goblin friend of mine in San Salvador. His family makes them and theirs are considered to be one of the most durable and the most artistic in the world. I like this one for what it stands for and how it portrays a different future.'

I open the parcel and I see what she means. The cloak is a depiction of goblins and their struggle throughout magical history, part of it dark and full of distrust and animosity for wzards and witches, the other part full of accomplishment and hope for collaboration. I wrap it around my shoulder, my body disappearing with the silky material as I read the remainder of her greeting.

'And if you're still there, go home.'

That made me smile. I put away the cloak and card in my case and put the rest of the stuff back onto my ever growing pile of to-do's. Hopefully my assistant, Leila, will remember it was just my birthday and spare me from the scolding I deserve (and always get) for procrastination.

I don on my travelling cloak and walk down to the lifts, buoyantly pleased but thinking about nothing in particular. At the Atrium I notice Free Elf Willy beside the priority elevator chatting with Ministry security. Free Willy inadvertently reveals who Leo is having over for a late night emergency meeting. Hermione will be pleased to hear that the Minister is on the defensive. I say goodbye.

As I get to the Fountain of Hope I stop in front of the statue of the young goblin and I remember the cloak. I take my phone out, giving in to the impulsive voice within me to call her. It's ringing – two rings, three, and she answers.

“Hey," she greets over the phone, already knowing it's me

"Hey. Thanks for the cloak. It's interesting," I say, groaning internally as I realize what I just said.

She chastises me, "Didn't I tell you to go home?"

"Give me a break. It was just my birthday, yesterday."

"What are you? Twelve?"

"Precisely why you should stop telling me to go home. I'm still disappointed that you forgot to get me a present."

“I didn’t forget," she answers. Of course she didn't. She repeats, "You should go home. Get started on your packing."

I sense her smirking. She knows I don't like to pack, even more so when my wife starts it for me.

"Evil witch," I say to her, then I ask, "Are you home?"

"Yes."

"Can I come over for a sec?"

There is silence on her end, a hesitation so I wonder out loud with some annoyance, "Is this a bad time?"

Her indecision and the question brings back an unpleasant memory from a long time ago, that of her saying that it was, with Warren's voice in the background asking her who was calling. Since that one time I never caught her at a 'bad time' again. I suspect that during subsequent 'bad times' she just didn’t answer the phone. Was Warren still in town?

She says it isn't a bad time and that she needs to talk with me anyway. I remember her distraction last night and wonder if it is going to be about that. In a couple of minutes I Disapparate into her backyard. The wards allow me through and I'm inside her home. She greets me at her back door entrance. We are in her kitchen, making tea, and I tell her about Leo’s late night meeting.

"I saw him earlier today. He was fuming over the Prophet article," I mention.

"Which one?"

Elliot came through with the editorial. We discuss how to continue to put on the pressure and how far to take it. Ultimately, we want his DOM expansion plans killed. We both feel there are more important programs resources should go into. But we also realize that getting funding back into the same social programs shut down for it is close to impossible. We'd have to get the Minister to approve something similar without knowing it or without giving him a choice.

Then there was the matter of accountability. While Leo would never allow her to personally review Department of Mystery business, he might be willing to compromise with some process through a small, confidential oversight committee. We decide Ernie should lead it if it came to that.

Throughout the conversation we are leaning against the kitchen counter, facing each other, casually sipping good, warm tea. After half an hour, our cups are empty and she sets hers on the sink, signalling that it’s almost time for me to leave. Did she forget?

“You said you wanted to talk about something?” I remind her, a rarity.

"Yes, well, I did."

"And?"

"I’m not um - sure how to um - say this,” she is grasping for words, quite unusual for Hermione, which means whatever it is, it isn't good.

I help her out, “Just give it to me straight.”

She pauses and looks at me with a frown before she blurts out, “I've been thinking...we can't do this anymore, Harry."

This is out of the blue. We’ve been meeting like this since - I don't know exactly when but I think it was around the time Leo came into power almost a year ago, when Kingsley passed the baton on to us to continue transforming our part of the world. We needed private and secure time and her home was the most logical place. I know what she is trying to say but I want to make sure I'm hearing her right before I blow my top.

"We can't do what?"

"We can't meet like this."

"Like what?"

"Like this, by ourselves, in a non-public place..." her voice trails off as she assesses my reaction.

"Why not?" I challenge.

"It's hardly appropriate for a married man to be visiting another woman in her house," she answers in a tone that doesn't sound like her, like she isn't convinced of it either.

My temper flares up. Naturally I think the worse, that she has some insecure boyfriend she's trying to appease.

I let out the accusation, “Has Warren said something?”

“Of course not,” her face turns red, as if it offended her.

"Is this about Leila? It's not her place to tell me who I should and shouldn't meet. I swear I'm gonna fire her..."

"I don't care about what Leila said and really, she is the best assistant you can have, even though she is somewhat judgmental."

"So where is this coming from?"

"Last week Rosie, asked Mum if we were having an affair", Hermione says gravely, "She showed Mum a Tinkerfinkle column with a blind item about two high ranking Ministry officials who have been having one for years. Mum asked her why she thought so and Rosie pointed out a few things, like how in the past, you've been coming over with Al, James and Lily but lately, you come just by yourself, when she and Hugo are supposed to be asleep. She also noticed that Ginny never comes here and that she never sees us talk."

Rosie was always very observant.

"What did your Mum say?"

"Mum told her 'no', told her that we're just very close friends and then scolded her for reading garbage and letting it influence what she should know in her heart," Hermione bites her lower lip, "Mum had a few choice words for me too."

"Tell me."

She really doesn't want to but knows I need to hear it.

"That more times than not when there's smoke there's fire," she shares, "I told her there is no fire, that we have been having an affair only in the minds of delusional rumour mongerers who have nothing better to write about."

"And?"

"She asked me ‘if there is no fire, is the smoke is necessary?’ She's got a point."

I don't agree at all.

"We’re not doing anything wrong,” I point out what I didn’t think I’d have to, “We have nothing to feel guilty about.”

“This is not appropriate."

"Says who?"

"Says me. You're married and not to me.”

“Ginny knows I come here.”

“All the more reason we should stop. She might not say it but if I were your wife I’d want it to stop.”

But you’re not my wife. If you were this conversation would not be happening at all.

I manage to keep the thought to myself. Ginny understands. Hermione just refuses to believe it completely true that Ginny does.

“Have you even noticed how much more we’ve been meeting on our own lately?”

“Not really,” I admit.

“Neither have I until I heard what Rosie said. I feel like I’m the other woman again even though I’m not. You can't be here alone with me at this hour," she stops for a second then adds, "Please don’t take this the wrong way. I know you think nothing of it and neither do I but this whole thing with Rosie and the Prophet made me realize that we should. Just because we're friends and you're married and off limts doesn't make you less attractive. We have a history. It will take a split second to forget who we are and I don't want it to ever get to that point."

"It won't ever get to that point," I answer even though I can see it easily happening, more so now that I know she has considered the possibility.

"Harry, please. This is hard enough as it is,” the frustration in her voice is clear. She desperately wants me to be okay with what she wants to happen, “I’m not saying we can’t ever see each other again. We still can, just not like this. I don't want to hurt anyone."

I am annoyed by what she is asking of me, annoyed that she makes sense and doesn't at the same time. I can’t believe we’re letting some lowlife writer influence us this way.

“You do realize that even if we do this we can't stop every writer from writing what they want."

"I know."

An impulsive thought comes to mind.

"We should just tell everyone we did have an affair. Get their speculation over with then it'll be old news and they'll leave us alone."

"Absolutely not!" she reacts immediately.

"Why not? It's in the past. Ginny knows, Ron has moved on, the children will understand..."

"No, no, they're not old enough," she is adamant about this, "They won't understand, not until they know what it’s like to be in love. Even then it will be difficult, particularly for Lily because she will see it from her mother’s point of view no matter what. I know; I was her age when I found out about my Dad's affair. And if she can't understand then she won't be able to forgive you. Losing your daughter and your sons over this is not worth it, Harry. It's all in the past. Why even bring it up?"

There was no choice.

I went home that night seething, thinking about her last question. It is very tempting to have our past out in the open. I see chaos and possibilities. I am tempted by hope. I do stop as I recognize how selfish that is, to forsake all others I care about to indulge in hope. I remind myself that I have so much already and that I can't have it all.

I don't see her the following day at work or the next. The rest of the summer is a blur. When I get back from holidays in late August I find out that things between her and the Minister have gotten from bad to worst. She got Brian Figg of the Organization of Free Elves (OFE), Grawp of the Giants and Giantesses Association (GAGA) and Jurnuk of the Brotherhood of Goblins (BOG) to go to the press and lobby at the Wizengamot for reinstatement of Being Integration funding. Hermione also had a big hand in creating the Unspeakable Oversight Committee and smote the DOM expansion plans convincingly the second the proposal went up in the executive board.

For his part Leo has been pissed at her for her lack of subtlety, threatening to fire her in front of several advisors which she dared him to. With their hostility now out in the open I can't imagine Hermione staying on with Leo still Minister.

I call her, asking rhetorically if she’s intending to oust the Minister singlehandedly. We both know that the current Wizengamot is fully behind Leo Jericho and it will take gross negligence to unseat him, something Leo isn't going to do. I remind her that she doesn’t have to bear all the heat for what needs to be done and she reassures me again that the Minister would never fire her.

Her boldness troubles me. I’ve been trying to meet with her but she hasn’t been in her office for days. Her assistant says last she heard Hermione was out of the country, in meetings in Ottawa with the Canadian Minister of Magic and his MLE chief.

Then it's September. We are at Kings Cross, on Platform 9 and 3/4, sending our children off to Hogwarts. I haven't seen her since the night after my birthday. She looks well, although I sense she's a wreck inside. She's trying to put up a brave front for Rosie - Rose, who is excited.

In contrast to Rose, Al is so nervous and anxious, first year jitters exacerbated by his older brother teasing him about not being sorted into Gryffindor. I'm worried by his lack of confidence and I try my best to reassure him that things will be okay. The train pulls away from the station and Ron makes a joke about people staring. I see him holding Hermione's hand as she waves goodbye to Rose with the other, her eyes brimming with tears.

Ginny squeezes my hand and tells me Al will be fine. I nod and agree just as Lily excitedlly announces Hugo will be joining us for brunch. Ron is game. Lily invites Hermione but she has a ready excuse, something about a meeting with the Minister.

I ask if everything is okay. She says she'd tell me about it later. Then I hear the news from a couple of Unspeakables late tonight. Hermione has resigned.

So I'm just on the outside back porch of her One Pine Hill home, anxious to speak with her. I don't call her so she can't brush me off or give me a reprise of how inappropriate my being here would be. That is farthest from my mind.

I am pacing back and forth, concerned that I easily broke through her wards. I look inside her house through a window and it's empty. She's leaving. It makes me angry that not only did she resign, she's leaving without saying anything to me.

And I know why. She didn't want me talking her out of it. I should have realized from what's been happening at work this past month that she was on her way out and was choosing to go out on her own terms. She had made up her mind.

It's close to midnight. Maybe she already left. As I think that I hear a faint pop of an Apparition and see her figure walking up the path towards me. The moonlight shines on her face, and I think she is crying. Halfway she senses my presence and takes her wand out again.

“Whatever happened to constant vigilance?” I show myself, “If I were a Death Eater you’d be dead by now.”

Hermione lowers her wand and quips, "“If you were a Death Eater, I’d tell you you’re nineteen years too late to join the fray. Go find yourself another gang.”

I meet her at the steps and we embrace, tight and snug, longer than the one we had earlier that day on Platform 9 ¾. She is the first to back off. She always is. I miss her. It's been almost a month since we last spoke in person.

“Seriously, it’s not funny,” I remind her, “There are people out there who’d like to get to you and Ron. Rose and Hugo could have been here.”

“I’ll take care of it,” she says just to get me off her back.

We stand there for quite some time just looking at each other with a seriousness that reminds me of our last talk the night after my birthday. I wonder how long before she confesses.

“I’ve heard rumours,” my impatience breaks our impasse and she doesn't deny it. “So, it is true. You finally did it.”

“Yes. I did.”

“When?”

“This morning,” she replies, “Officially I’m around for another two weeks but I’ve cleared my desk and I’ve pissed the Minister royally I doubt he’d need me.”

“I should have known you were going to do something like this,” I answer back, “You’ve been burning quite a lot of bridges lately.”

“I always wanted a fiery exit,” she jokes, but I can't find it funny.

“I guess you got sick and tired of me telling you not to leave. Where are you off to?”

I am so tempted to read her mind. I'm trying to decide if her secrecy is reason enough to intrude. Within her truthful answers she is hiding something else. I can sense it.

“A trip, see interesting places, visit some friends, family, get some needed R and R,” she says in succession.

Hermione is never this vague unless she's lying.

“With Hugo?”

“Yes. He’s quite excited.”

“How long?”

“A month, maybe longer.”

“And after?” she hesitates, I can't bear to hear another half-truth, “Your house is packed. You’re not staying in London after, are you?”

“I need the change, Harry.”

“This is a big change, bigger than what you asked of me.”

She breaks eye contact and bows her head, rubbing off tears. I feel such an ass doing this to her but I am still pissed about being lied to.

I try to think. Why would she need the change? What is so horrible about her life now that she wants to change? And she wants to change it so badly she didn't want me to know until it would be too late to stop her. I think back to the night she asked me not to see her like this anymore.

“You knew then that you were leaving," I recognize, and her silence confirms that. Even though I know she has made up her mind I have to say it anyway, "You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to leave.”

“I need to, Harry, for myself,” she replies, with firmness and resolve, “I’ve done what I can here and it’s time to move on.”

I hear what she's telling me but her reasoning lacks its usual logic. I still can't understand why her need to change means leaving. If she needs a change from working at the Ministry and it was time to move on then why leave? There is plenty for her to do in London outside of the Ministry.

Then it hits me. It's not about the job, it's about leaving. It’s about leaving London. It’s about moving away from what’s here. Or what’s not here. She’s not happy where she is.

All these years I never asked. I assumed she wouldn't have agreed to work with me and Kingsley if it wasn't what she wanted and I assumed that if it was what she wanted then it would make her happy. I chose to be ignorant because I wanted her to stay.

I do see her point now. She has done all she can for others and it’s now time to do something for herself. She needs to move away and I’d be a complete asshole if I keep her from finding the happiness she deserves.

“Where are you headed after your trip?”

“I’m accepting the Canadian Minister’s offer to clean up their Ministry. I think I’ll be in Ottawa for a long while.”

“What about Hugo and Rose?”

“Hugo is coming with me,” she replies, then adds, “Rose can join us during the holidays she’s not with Ron and Anne.”

“Ron’s okay with that?”

“Yes, he is,” she answers, “Look, we’ll be around. It’s not that we won’t see each other anymore. And you and Ginny can come over and visit once we’re settled.”

That will never happen.

“It’ll be different here without you.”

“It’ll be fine.”

I doubt it will.

“Ottawa is so far away. Lily will lose her best friend,” I pause, “I’m losing mine.”

She takes my hand and squeezes it tight, “No, you’re not. We’ll always be best friends, Harry.”

“Yeah. Always. Right.”I squeeze it back, as teary eyed as she is, biting down on my lip, so I wouldn't ask her to stay.

I pull her gently into my arms and we hold each other in an embrace. I want her to stay so badly. I can't begin to imagine what it would be like without her but I have to let her go.

“I love you, Hermione. You know that, right?”

I don't care that I'm not supposed to say it. She's leaving, I have a feeling that this time it’s for good. I just need to know that she knows.

She answers, “I do, Harry.”

I feel pain in her reply. She doesn’t believe me but wants me to think she does. She has always cared about me in that selfless way and I instantly regret telling her. It was pointless. She has no reason to believe that I love her and it only hurts more now knowing that she’s going away believing that I don’t.

I breathe in her familiar fragrance and kiss her on the top of her head. It is then as I’m holding her in my arms when I feel the tension within her ease away. This is the most she has been vulnerable and open with me in years, the most she has been like her old, unbroken self. It sends me back to our time, to that moment when it was just us and we had an eternity of being together to look forward to. The surge of desire to prove to her that I love her is overwhelming and I have to pull away, afraid of what else I might do if I don't. With the best smile I muster, I say goodbye and Disapparate.

The next morning I wake up with a hollowness within me. She finally did what she should have done a long time ago. She finally left me. So this is how it feels knowing in my heart that she has, without a doubt, finally let me go.

XXXXXXXX

A/N. Of course we all know Hermione didn’t leave to find happiness as Harry thinks but it is what she wanted him to believe.

All present chapter coming up.

53. Getting Nowhere

A/N. Doing this quickly before RL sucks me into its vortex again :). I really wish there was more time in the day. My apologies to the reviewers I haven’t had the chance to reply to. That is so unlike me and I feel bad. Will try over the next few days to catch up.

Happy New Year to you all. My New Year’s resolution (I’m making it up right this very moment) is to put up a new chapter at least once every two weeks. Just to let you know, my track record on New Year’s resolutions isn’t very good. :(

Title reflects both my and Harry’s frustration in this fic.

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Chapter 53 – Getting Nowhere

Never in all the years of keeping Hugo's true parentage secret from Harry did Hermione imagine him making this erroneous conclusion about why she did what she did. In her single-mindedness to give Hugo the most normal childhood she could provide it had not occurred to her that he would think she didn't want him in their lives because she didn't trust him to do what was right for her and Hugo. In truth, she lied to him then because she knew he would forsake all else so he could.

While it would have made things less complicated to let Harry believe what he did, she owed him the entire truth. If there was going to be a 'bad guy' to blame for all this she couldn't allow him to be it and if there was a reckoning of sorts to be had this was on her all the way.

Still weak, she squeezed his hand as firmly as she could, looked into his eyes and said, "Don't...think th-that. It...wasn't like th-that..."

Her voice barely carried the short distance between them. There was this heaviness weighing her down physically and it was frustrating that she couldn't continue.

Harry saw her struggling and understood her annoyance. He gently brushed the tears off her face.

"Sssh, it's okay," he said to her, "It can wait."

She shook her head. She couldn't let him go thinking what he was thinking and Merlin only knew when they could talk again; if they could talk again.

"But..."

"Save your strength," he urged, "You need it. I promise we'll talk. I'm not going anywhere."

His reassuring tone settled her down.

"And I'm not letting you off easily," he added light-heartedly.

"You're...not angry...?"

"I was," he replied honestly, "But I can't stay mad at you, no matter what you do. You should know that by now."

His eyes burned with the overpowering selfless affection familiar from a long time ago. It is with this same irrational completeness that she loved him - that she continues to love him; boundless and without condition, no ifs or buts. It is why she understood he had to stay with his wife and children and why she didn't resent him for making that choice.

Something about the moment tugged at her heartstrings. She had not seen him since her Mum's funeral last year. There had been no chance to talk to him then, to study him this closely, to see the new subtle laugh and frown lines on his face and to notice the few gray strands on his hair. Hermione had wondered if their sparse contact in recent years would diminish how he felt about her, not that she would have done anything had things changed. The answer to her question stilled her heart.

Gazing into his green eyes she noticed they were sadder than they were that night she said goodbye four years ago, when she let him believe she was leaving to find her own happiness. Having looked out for him for most of her life, it was impossible to stop the innate compulsion to make him feel better.

Hermione cupped his face in her hand and gently caressed his cheek. He let her. She missed this; she missed him. Four years was too long to live without him. For once she didn't care that she was the other woman still foolishly unable to let go. It didn't matter. She loved him and returning affection in kind was okay, even if just for this moment. She would have the rest of their lives to go back pretending after.

"Mum!"

They turned to the entrance where the excited yell came from. Hugo ran and flung his arms around her, giving her a bone crushing hug.

"You're awake! You're finally awake!" their son burst out with joy.

"Yes," she answered meekly, all smiles, hugging him back, grateful for the fact that she could.

She looked behind him. Jessie was misty-eyed and Ted had bright orange hair, grinning from ear to ear.

Harry had stepped back to give Hugo space. Their eyes met and he gave her a nod before leaving the room, a reassurance that he was fine and that they would continue their conversation at some point. There was much to talk about but she imagined that like her he had a lot to do.

Hugo pulled away, tears and all. The dark lines under his eyes went with the enormous burden she could feel he was carrying within. Her heart went out to him. Seeing him like this always brought about regret for the decision she made for them but it would be a waste to wallow in guilt She was determined to make this work. She was going to make this better.

There was a resurgence of energy within her and she felt the deadweight upon her lifting.

Rejuvenated, she said to him, "Tell me everything."

It was only then when she noticed that Hugo looked unwell. He was pale and becoming paler by the second. His grip began to loosen. She quickly sat up, hanging onto his limp hand, watching in shock as he slumped onto his knees. Ted broke Hugo's fall as he lost consciousness.

XXXXXXXXXX

Earlier, just outside Hermione's room, Harry took his phone out and called the number Warren had given him back at Hiwaga.

"Yes, Harry?" the Canadian answered with an irritating smugness, as if he was expecting the call.

It took all of Harry's self control to remain calm. Having worked with Warren before Harry knew him well. Warren didn’t act like an asshole just because he was one. He did it for many different reasons, but ultimately to give him an advantage. The ex-Auror was counting on Harry to be riled up, to be rash, to not think clearly. Harry wasn't going to fall for that.

“Al and Rosie. I want them back.”

Warren sighed loudly.

“The problem with you Harry is that it’s always about what you want.”

“And the problem with you is that you talk too much. Spare me your crap. I’m through playing your games.”

Warren replied readily, “Alrighty then. Open up. I’m outside the door.”

Without second thought, Harry Apparated to the main entrance and swung it open. Warren stepped in, flashing wood. Harry spun leftward and pulled out his weapon. The next split second unfolded in a blaze of wandfire.

XXXXXXXXXX

Earlier at the Pitch, Ginny's pulse was racing. Help was on the other side of the door. If only she could get the message out.

The bell rang again. She was prodded down the stairs, urged at wandpoint. They stopped near the double door entrance and the elves began talking in a foreign language, deliberating in an almost panic mode what to do next. She heard their names being thrown about. Dovalov was not alone and they were talking about whether or not it would be prudent to let him and his companion in. Finally, after the third ring, Ann answered. They made her.

"I would like to speak with Mr. Potter," said their visitor.

"Is he expecting you?"

After a pause, Dovalov answered back, "No. I have private message for him and his wife."

"The Potters are away," Ann replied too calmly, obviously under an Imperius, "Can I take a message?"

There was a pause followed by a disturbing remark, "I have warning. Tell them that Malvado knows he does not have Hallows. Tell them he is closing in on the Keeper."

Ginny glanced over to her captor, the elf called Magino-o. He was as troubled about Dovalov's revelation as his fellow elf was. They were exchanging hand signals and gestures, arguing about what to do next, and not paying much attention to her.

"What's going on Mum?"

They all looked up in unison to where the voice came from. It was James. He and Lily appeared from their bedrooms.

"Run!" she screamed.

There was not a moment to lose. Ginny grabbed the most injurious item within reach, a vase of heavy glass, and swung it hard against Magino-o's head.

Crash!

That caught the elves off guard. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Ann gather her twins into her arms and disappear into the adjacent sitting room. The kids were nowhere to be seen. She hoped they would think to head to the Master bedroom and Floo from there. The elves wouldn't be able to follow that way for Floo travel was designed for wizards and witches only. She snatched the dazed elf's wand and had barely released the entry wards before being disarmed by Magino-o's companion.

Two distinct Apparitions into the Pitch happened in succession. Wand sparks and spell beams were exchanged between their two abductors and Dovalov's party. To her disappointment Magino-o had recovered from her blow easily and was skilfully leading a counter-offensive without his wand.

Ginny had to get Ann and her children out, and then make sure Lily and James had gone. She ran into the sitting room where she found Ann and the now awake and screaming twins behind the sofa.

She took Sam from Ann and then led her sister-in-law and other nephew into the Floo, yelling instructions over the ruckus, "Go to Shell Cottage!"

Ann nodded obediently. After putting Sam back in her unoccupied arm, Ginny used a handful of the Floo powder and watched the three engulfed by green flames and disappear.

Ginny turned her attention to the next task at hand. The fighting in the adjacent room was as intense as when it started. Without another thought, she Apparated to the corridor on the second floor just outside Lily's room. Lily was screaming from the master bedroom. Ginny rushed in and saw the other elf threatening her daughter at wandpoint.

"Surrender or your sister gets it!" Ginny heard the being say to James, who promptly did as he was told.

Maternal instincts took over. She fired at the elf but it was deflected. Magino-o appeared beside James and Lily the same time Dovalov showed up. Dovalov's companion followed soon after. It was Seamus.

"Remove the anti-Disapparition wards," the head elf demanded, as he used James as a shield.

"You can't have my children!"

In her gut Ginny knew that while the elves wanted to take them, neither would hurt Lily or James. She fired at Magino-o's head and the elf, not expecting an attack, got hit squarely. It drew the being's ire but he just shook it off.

"Why do you have to be difficult?"

"You're working for Malvado!"

"That is just plain stupid," Magino-o replied nastily, making her even more furious, "If we did do you think you and your children will still be alive? And how dare you insult us with such accusations!"

Dovalov spoke up, "Your boss works for Malvado!"

"Warren is not our 'boss'. And he works for no one! Your loyalties, on the other hand, are misguided. The Granger boy is the one. Using the Hallows is the only way he can succeed."

"The Granger boy," Ginny repeated calmly, realizing, "This is about Hugo. My children have nothing to do with this."

Magino-o blushed and, somewhat embarrassed, explained, "Unfortunately because of Mr. Potter's er - true relationship with the Granger boy that is not entirely true. The word is out and Malvado is seeking all the leverage he can get."

The room fell silent. Everyone, including Lily and James, understood. It irked Ginny how this was all happening to her children because of what Harry did in the past. It was so unfair to them and they were about to pay a lot more for their father's transgression. She wanted them far away from all of it.

"I don't care about Malvado!" Ginny cried out in defiance.

"You should care," was Seamus' cautionary reply, "Malvado is as dangerous as Voldemort was, maybe even more."

"Finnigan is right," Magino-o concurred, "We can protect your children."

"I-don't-care!" she said emphatically, believing in her heart that no one could protect her children better than her, "Get Gates! Tell him I want my son back!"

"Pop! Pop! Pop! Po-pop!

Multiple apparitions punctuated her demand. In the span of mere seconds they were all disarmed and surrounded by wizards and witches, law enforcers from the looks of it. They were outnumbered three to one.

"MLE! Nobody move!" the apparent leader yelled out, confirming who they were.

One of the wizards slammed Seamus down against the hardwood floor unexpectedly and with such brutality she heard Lily gasp.

The man spoke, "Seamus Finnigan, You are under arrest for the murder of Jurnuk the Goblin!"

"No. You must be mistaken," Ginny voiced her objection but her words fell on deaf ears.

"Traitor!" Seamus spat back over his shoulder as magical restraints snaked over his wrists and ankles.

Ginny recognized who Seamus was referring to, a wizard somewhat obscured in the second row. Her eyes widened in disbelief.

"Ernie?"

"That is an outrageous lie!" Dovalov exclaimed.

"Shut up! The rest of you are under arrest for aiding a fugitive."

"We are under arrest?" Magino-o repeated, "Under arrest?"

Magino-o began to laugh, and so did his colleague.

"What's so funny?!" Ernie demanded.

"You're only MLE, untrained in being combat" Magino-o answered in between trains of laughter, "You don't stand a chance. Our apologies in advance, Mrs. Potter."

It dawned on her that these battle ready elves could perform magic without their wands and the MLE were unprepared for that. The Beings were going to do what they intended to do. What choice did she have?

"Take me with you. I have to be with them," she heard herself say to the elf leader.

"Restrain them!" Ernie ordered.

Wands were raised and aimed but not one fired. There was confusion on many faces as the Pitch suddenly went pitch black.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo woke up to the sight of his Mum's worried face and the sound of fighting in the background. He quickly propped himself up, realizing that he was now occupying the exact spot where he had last seen her.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered without much thought, distracted that something dire was happening down on the ground level, "What's going -"

"No - no," Aunt Jessie interrupted, "You passed out and you were throwing up a lot just before that. You can't be okay."

So maybe he was drained and feeling a bit queasy. He was certain the large junk food dinner he partook and the near death experience he had with Malvado caused all that. Hopefully his Mum wouldn't find out about either.

"I had indigestion. I feel fine," he insisted and as he was about to be told again that he wasn't his Mum replied on his behalf.

"He's fine."

Whew! That stopped Aunt Jessie from asking more questions, for now anyway. She was still eyeing him with a look of disapproval for the lie he was trying to sell.

Fortunately there was a more important matter at hand. The fighting was not letting up though his Mum didn't seem concerned about it. He could feel her still probing him.

"Is it Malvado?" he asked, his heart pounding hard against his chest just at his mention of the name.

"No," his Mum answered, "It's Warren."

"Shouldn't we be um- helping?"

"I suppose I should sort it out before someone really gets hurt," she said to him.

Her calm demeanour amazed him. She was always in control when it came to her job. Even that night when she was hurt and sent him to his father's, she acted as if she had thought everything through and that she knew exactly what was going to happen next. He wanted to be as unafraid and as certain of himself like her and, as much as he didn't want to admit it, like his father earlier.

He got on his feet and followed his Mum and Aunt Jessie out of the room. The shot of adrenaline from clasping his wand tightly was more than enough to offset the lingering dizziness he was feeling.

As they got to the foot of the stairs, he ducked. A projectile zoomed over his head. The tiny figure slammed against the wall beside them and crashed onto the floor like a rag doll, joining the two other beings already unconscious there.

"Jessie, do you mind?" his Mum asked.

"I am not a Healer," Aunt Jessie tried to remind them but his Mum had already gone down the hallway towards the kitchen. She expressed her irritation to Hugo, "I deal with dead beings only. Why is that so hard for people to understand?"

Hugo shrugged and not knowing what else to say, apologized. He walked past her as she attended to them anyway. Things had noticeably quieted down. He joined his Mum at the kitchen entrance, his jaw falling at the sight before them. Warren and his father were fighting bare fisted like common Muggles, their wands idle on the floor despite being within easy reach.

It was hard to judge who had the upper hand. There was blood and broken furniture everywhere. His father was bleeding from a cut just above his right eye while Warren was sporting a golf sized shiner on his left cheek. The Canadian attacked, swinging a big left hook but the Auror fluidly sidestepped it and countered with a wicked three-punch combination. All blows hit the intended mark busting Warren's lip in the process. His mother was seeing the exact same thing he was.

"Winky is going to have a fit when she sees this mess," she remarked, getting everyone's attention.

"Honey!" Warren greeted, coming off of his defensive stance, evidently happy to see his Mum, "It's about time you woke u- oh shit - !"

He didn't finish. Warren dove for his wand and got to it but got blasted by a Stunner anyway.

"Thanks," his mother said to him as she gave him back his weapon, just now noticing that she had taken it from him without his knowledge. How did she do that? She then turned to his father and asked, "Are you okay?"

"Never better. But I wasn't quite finished with him," the Auror complained.

"I’m sorry for interrupting. You two can catch up later," she responded.

Hugo watched as she went to the ice box and retrieved a couple of packs from the freezer. She tossed one to his father, who caught it perfectly, and then walked over to where Warren was moaning noisily a few feet away from where he was when the curse hit him.

"Ow...ow..." Warren groaned as he gingerly picked himself off the floor, "I was winning. Was that absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, it was," she answered while holding the cold object against Warren's swollen mouth.

"I had to do it. I couldn't take the chance," Warren replied in an apologetic tone as he took the ice from her, "And I swear on my mother’s grave that that's the complete truth."

His mother stared at Warren, gave a slight nod and let him attend to his injury. Hugo had seen this many times. They talked in private this way and while he didn’t really mind it before it annoyed him now, maybe because he wanted in on the conversation. He did sense that his Mum was sceptical about the truthfulness of Warren's answer.

“Where’s Ted?” she asked.

“He went after Gummy,” his father answered, gauging her reaction.

“The arse ran away after mounting an unprovoked assault and almost taking my head off,” Warren added bitterly, "You shouldn't encourage him to stick around."

There was unspoken tension in the air between Mum and his father. His mother turned to Hugo and gave him the look. He didn’t want to go.

“Mum, I want to know,” he pleaded.

“And you will but not just yet,” his mother put simply.

He couldn't help vent his frustration, "When? When I'm dead? When it won't matter anymore?"

"When you're old enough not to act like a child," she chastised.

There would be no arguing with her at this point. Hugo pleaded his case with Warren who was usually on his side. Warren was whipped and couldn’t help him either. He marched out of the kitchen angrily, tears brimming and steam coming off his ears. How was he supposed to finish off a Dark wizard when he wasn’t completely in the loop?!

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry watched Hugo storm out of the room, thinking how at thirteen he would have probably done the same.

"Yes, the kid hasn't fallen very far from the tree," Warren commented, "If he was mine I'd tell him everything."

"You've told him enough," Hermione replied, "I will not let him go through childhood thinking it's up to him to kill a dark wizard and that he could die in the process, especially when it doesn't have to be that way."

"He already thinks that," Harry told her.

"What do you mean?"

"The Hag told him as much."

He briefly recounted the Trelawney incident and before he could get to the part about the book Hermione went on a tirade.

"That witch! She should mind her own fucking business! I tell you she just did it to piss me off! She knows I don’t care about prophecies, especially hers, so she’s forcing them on him. If she weren't dead already..."

Warren interrupted, "I know, you'd kill her. Look. Hugo knowing about it is a good thing. I really think you should tell him everything you know. He's a smart kid. At least he won't get in trouble because of what he doesn't know."

Hermione frowned, considering the advice. Harry hated the feeling of being a bystander, of not being asked for his opinion. After all, wasn’t Hugo his son? As if sensing his ire, she turned to him.

"What do you think?"

"A little knowledge can be a bad thing," Harry spoke what he knew from experience, "Hugo certainly knows just enough to get him in trouble. But then again I don't know what this is all about so I don't know if you should tell him everything."

"Kiss ass," Warren hissed.

Harry faced him and asked, "Al and Rosie; where are they?"

"I don't know enough to decide if I should tell you. How does that feel?" Warren was mocking him.

It was an invite he wasn't going to let pass. If he had to beat Warren to death to get the information he would do so without remorse.

But Hermione put herself between them quicker than he could get his hands around his neck and answered his question, "Al is safe. He and Rosie are in a secluded magical village a few miles from Hiwaga."

“I want Al back here in London.”

“Not a good idea,” Warren said a sing-song tone.

“Warren will take you there. You can take Al back yourself,” she responded, ignoring the asshole.

“Good one, honey,” Warren complimented, "Brilliant as always."

Harry could never stand how Warren talked to her, or was it how she didn't care and just let him get away with it? He was so not getting into that right now.

"I have a lot of questions and I need answers."

"Me, me, me - it's all about me," Warren carried on.

Harry said to her, "If you don't shut him up I will."

"Just ignore him like I do," she suggested.

"You're hurting my feelings," Warren whined.

Hermione continued, "I promise you'll get answers."

"Honey, maybe you shouldn't be making promises you can't keep," Warren smirked at her.

"I said stop calling me 'honey'."

"Sure thing, sweetums."

Harry was miffed more than ever. He was deciding how much more of this banter he could endure.

The Head Auror asked impatiently, "Hermione, where are the Hallows?"

Warren laughed. Hermione blushed a crimson red.

She answered, "I'm sorry, Harry. I can't tell you. I'm not the Keeper."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hope the loyalties are starting to have better shape and form. There’s lots more to cover on that.

Can’t explain it but I went back and forth on Hermione’s POV in this. Hopefully it satisfies most.

The part at the Pitch was problematic too – I don’t like writing action sequences and needing to write one with Ginny in it was very hard.

I had thought about changing this last part – to just let Hermione give Harry the answers (and shorten this fic by a mile) but I’ve always wanted this so that Harry and Hugo will need to work together.

As you all can tell, this fic is far from over. Thank you all for your patience.

See you in a couple of weeks (crosses fingers).

54. The Invincibility Stones

A/N. As much as it felt like it most times, no, I didn’t fall into a black hole of a time warp and totally lost track of time. I can’t believe it’s April, more than three months since I last updated. It’s been crazy in RL and the little free time I had I spent going around in circles in this one chapter. Cokieisme’s review last night finally pushed me to just let go- : ) thanks! Pamcakes – thanks to you too for your gentle reminders. Hope you’re having an amazing spring so far. It’s been great (it’ll be better once I overcome my fear that I’ll kill every plant in our yard – including the grass!). The Hugo-Hermione scene won’t be in here but should be on the next.

This is short but I think it was giving me such a block I needed to post.

I still owe a lot of review replies – will plug away at answering over the next few days. I am blown away by them and the theories some of you have come up with astound me. A few have been spot on!

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Chapter 54 – The Invincibility Stones

Warren was still laughing, seemingly amused about some private joke between him and Hermione.

"Fidelus," she explained why she couldn't.

"Really?" Harry knew that but had to ask, wanting to make sure she wasn't pulling his leg.

"Yup, hard to imagine," Warren butted in, answering for her.

Every little sound from the asshole irritated him now. Thankfully Warren’s phone rang and whoever it was on the other line drew his undivided attention. He stepped out into the backyard for privacy.

The fact that Hermione wasn't the Keeper wasn't surprising. She wouldn't be because she would be the most obvious one. However, he didn't figure that she would completely give up the ability to talk about where the Hallows were.

"Is it really that hard to believe?" Hermione inquired as they tidied up the mess he and Warren made.

Confident she wouldn't take it the wrong way, Harry replied, "You've always been somewhat of a control freak."

"True," she concurred, then admitted in a self-depreciating tone, "I really didn't think that through, did I?"

"I'd say. Any work around it?"

"Unfortunately I was quite focused and determined when I set it up. And I had excellent help."

Professor Flitwick maybe. They each picked up the last two wooden chairs that had toppled over. She then asked if he wanted a drink. He didn't but she filled two glasses of water anyway and put them on the breakfast table, sat down and proceeded to drink hers.

Harry took a seat beside her and, after a brief internal debate, succumbed to the temptation to gaze to his right. As he did, he couldn't help the totally inappropriate wonderings that bubbled through his mind. He missed her and he didn't fully realize how much he missed her until that moment. It was still all surreal to him that Hugo was their son.

We actually have a son.

Harry had not felt this good about anything in his life in a long while. It meant a big deal to him and so he thought that surely, it must mean something to her. She said he was wrong about the reason why she never told him about Hugo. What exactly did she mean by that? Did she trust him to do the right thing but didn't want him to? Or did her decision to keep Hugo a secret have nothing to do with trust?

Swearing mentally, he took the other glass and drank it bottoms up to wash down the lump in his throat, sternly rebuking himself there was so much else to talk about.

"Who's the Keeper?" were the first set of words that came out of his mouth.

She answered with regret in her voice, "Sorry. Unbreakable vow. I guess I could tell you if I really had to."

"I'd rather you didn’t."

"Right. At the moment I don't think there's a need to," she said. She leaned closer and her expression became more sombre as she added, "I just want to say that I am sorry about not giving your cloak back."

The apology was sincere but he couldn’t help thinking that obviously, she wasn't sorry enough. Hermione read his mind; he could never hide anything from her.

She blushed as she tried to make him understand, "It was a very difficult time and for a while being Mistress of Death was the only thing that made sense in my life. But I had always wanted to return it. Many times I wish I did."

He nodded. It sounded like it wasn't solely up to her to make that happen anymore. The cloak was valuable in that it was his one possession that belonged to his father but it was still just a 'thing'. And while he was disappointed that Hermione took it, he realized that he was no longer as upset about losing it as he had been years ago, even more so knowing that it wasn't lost at all and that she had put it to good use.

"I hope I do get it back at some point," he brushed that aside, noting that she retained a perturbed expression. Harry couldn’t get himself to care more about the cloak at that moment. He asked, "Will you tell me - what it was like then? Not now but maybe some other time?"

She was reluctant and after her hesitation, compromised, "Maybe - some other time."

At least she was considering it. Harry hoped she would tell him eventually, even if it was an abridged version. He steered them back to a more neutral topic.

"So, Malvado; what's the story?"

She seemed as relieved that they were talking about something else.

"What have you heard?"

"Aside from what the Ministry knows, not much."

He retold what he read from the file Isa gave them as well as the snippets Warren told him, figuring that Hermione would correct any mistakes. She didn't.

"How off am I?"

"You met him. What do you think?"

"He definitely has talents I haven't seen in a dark wizard since Voldemort," he understated, "Is he really an ancient, volcano spewed spirit with the gift of immortality?"

"Ancient - yes. His physical body is new but his inner core, his soul, is hundreds of years old. Volcano-spewed - partly true. He once came back using an inter-realm portal through a dormant one and that story follows him to this day. The fire-hell-demon image scares many and exponentially increases perception of how evil he is, without him needing to do anything."

"And immortal Son of Death?"

"That depends on your definition of 'son'. The moniker 'Son of Death' comes from the Hag's prophecy. It's bullcra-," she caught herself in time and put it more simply, "Well, I don't have to tell you how I feel about her and what she said. To be precise about it Malvado is Death's creation. The stone that gives him what everyone thinks is immortality is from Death."

"You talk about Death as if Death is real."

"Death is real; black hooded cloak, scythe and all. The scythe is just a prop, by the way," she replied, "You should meet It. Lovely character. Well, the current one is."

She was dead serious. It was odd hearing her talk ordinarily about something so extraordinary - kind of un-Hermionish. That story about being Mistress of Death was becoming even more intriguing, imagining now the literal meaning of having the title. He thought about his strange vision, about Rasputin and the portals, and began contemplating the likelihood that it was more than just a dream. He decided to let that one go for now and asked her about her other point

"You implied that Malvado is not immortal."

"Not in the true sense of the word. He is invincible, impermeable to injury and illness. Understandably, that's not a big difference to us mere mortals."

"And I take it that this stone is not something that can easily be taken from him?"

Hermione confirmed, "It is part of him until he willingly lets go of it and someone willingly accepts it."

"That's a problem."

"Yes, a huge one. He hasn't given it up since acquiring it. There is no reason why he would do it now."

"What else do you know about the stone? How did Malvado get it?"

"Centuries ago, there was an epidemic of immortals and quasi-immortals brought about by Deaths who gave powers away in backdoor deals, like the Hallows. Some of the immortals were becoming problems in society so to address that, the Death-then deputized thirteen living beings, giving them Invincibility stones in exchange for their services to bring these immortals and quasi-immortals down."

"Giving special powers to rid the world of those with special powers? Sounds counter-intuitive."

"I agree. But I'm sure you can appreciate how difficult it is for ordinary individuals to bring into justice beings like Malvado. Many have tried and failed."

"Why didn't the Death-then rescind the deals Its predecessors made?"

"That would have been great if It could. Unfortunately after-life politics isn't like ours. Any changes to agreements have to be mutually approved by both parties. Death tried renegotiating; that failed too. Left without a choice and desperate, It decided to create the team of Invincibles, beings of exemplary character, who agreed to what Death asked of them.”

"So Malvado passed Death's psych test, got a stone and turned bad."

"Yes though not immediately. The team was quite successful in its first decades of existence, eliminating a significant number of problem immortals. Knowing that the mission would likely last more than one lifetime, the original deal with Death involved them giving up their stone at some point and choosing someone deserving and willing to continue with the task. Most, keeping true to their agreement with Death, handed over the stones to willing relatives and friends. Others, Malvado included, reneged on the deal.”

"And Death didn’t see that coming?"

"Foresight is not a skill Death normally needs in Its line of work. It felt betrayed and somewhat humiliated. These promise-breakers were hand-picked, personally chosen by Death.”

“What was the penalty for breaking the promise?”

“They paid for the lives of their families and their family’s families,” she replied, “Soon, they were living beyond appropriate life expectancies, the dark powers of the stone decimating their human form to the likeness of Death Itself. No amount of magic could completely mask the change. It also became extremely hard to explain why they were still alive so they found ways to occupy new bodies and switch identities every few decades. Eventually, Death was replaced. The stones scattered across continents, their original reason for existing lost in the transitions. We don't know how many stones remain."

"Pity. We could use some help with Malvado."

Hermione neither agreed nor disagreed, adding, "Stories say Malvado was a good spirit once but a very poor judge of character. They say he became what he is today because he took over too many bodies with tainted essences."

"Essences?"

"Soul remnants," she clarified, "Anyway, every time Malvado has misbehaved in the past someone has always stepped up to the plate and sent him back to the afterlife. There his invincibility is not an asset and what he does doesn't affect anyone. Then he gets bored, finds a way back and always gets worse in an evil way each time he resurfaces. The most obvious and easiest way to get rid of him short of him giving up his invincibility stone is to send him back again."

"I take it the easiest way isn't easy."

"He knows how to protect himself against the obvious. And even if we succeed he'll eventually find a way back. It'll be nice to find him permanent after-life accommodation. We need for him to die.”

"And he wants to be Master of Death so he won't have to go back?"

"That's what Warren and I thought initially. But that never made complete sense. Malvado, in his many previous lives, has known about the Hallows. It was part of what he and the rest were sent out to deal with. And he has had his current human form for many years yet his interest in acquiring the Hallows has only been recent.”

“Is it to prevent the Hag’s Prophecy?”

“He doesn’t believe in the Hag’s Prophecy.”

“That didn’t seem to be the case when he tried to tear Hugo in half earlier.”

“His intention to kill Hugo does not come from his belief that Hugo will be the one to do him in but his desire to crush the hopes of those who believe Hugo will."

Harry didn’t think it possible but he was now more pissed off at Malvado.

Hermione continued, "He will quash anything that could make him look bad. His blind loyalists adore him with god-like reverence and many beings fear him for how he deals with enemies. That he has that power over others is very important to him."

“So why is he after the Hallows?"

“At the meeting with the Being Elders, I found out that possessing the Hallows is not his main goal. Except for the wand. He does want to own the unbeatable wand for the obvious reasons. But even that is still secondary.”

“Secondary to what?”

“To preventing the powers of the Hallows from - um - leaving this realm,” Hermione answered, “The Invincibility stones were designed to be effective only for as long as there remained a reason for them to exist.”

“The threat of an immortal.”

“Precisely. Recently, the last Death-created immortal Being decided to stay in the after-life for good. As we speak, the Hallows are the only remaining reason for his invincibility. He wants to secure at least one to ensure his survival and the wand, in his eyes, is the most powerful of the three.”

Harry frowned. It still didn’t make complete sense to him.

"I get it that he wants the Hallows to remain in our world. I get it that he wants the wand because of what it is. Two things are bugging me about it. One, if he's not really interested in the rest of the Hallows, then why, when he thought he already had the wand and the stone, was he still looking for the cloak?"

"The answer to that," she began, "Is complicated."

He countered, "I have no doubt that it is. I'll try my best to follow."

She took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. She seemed very intent in considering her words carefully before she finally answered.

"As I said, acquiring the Hallows is secondary."

"He wants them to stay here."

"And to continue to exist," she added, "And if he couldn't have them all - "

Harry finished for her, "He wanted to make sure no one will find the last one."

Malvado wasn't killing off the POTH to get the last Hallow; he was killing them off to make sure the Cloak, what he thought was the only one he didn’t have, remained hidden.

Realizing that he understood, Hermione continued, "What was the second thing?"

"Why stop at one or two Hallows? Wouldn't being Master of Death make him more powerful than he is right now?"

"Being Master of Death does not make him more invincible than he is and it involves responsibilities and accountabilities he would rather not have."

"I imagined the powers to be more independent and absolute."

"It was. I certainly fixed that," she muttered the last more to herself with amused satisfaction.

Harry heard it and had to chuckle, "You took the fun out of it, didn't you?"

"I did not," she denied, her half-smile betraying how little truth there was in her words, "Maybe I did but it really depends on one's definition of fun. I had to do something, especially since I couldn't destroy them or send them back. All that power resting on one individual was just not right.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Still working on it.”

She looked at him too intensely and he sensed it was a lie. She would at least have one, and a back-up.

“You don’t trust me with it?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Harry. We both know the answer to that. I am still working on it.”

She repeated herself. Even if it were possible, he thought it unlikely for her to take Warren's advise to re-unite the Hallows and become Mistress of Death again. Whatever her plan was it would involve making Malvado more mortal, which meant eliminating the threat of the Hallows. Did she figure out how to do that?

The POTH. Maybe she and POTH were close to a solution to get rid of the Hallows. It was probably one main why Malvado was hell bent on finding the Keeper even though he thought he already had the wand. Malvado must want to eliminate the entire group, to eliminate the threat to the existence of the Hallows and ensure the Hallows couldn't be found.

"Tell me about the POTH."

She shifted in her seat uncomfortably, pausing before replying carefully, "According to a 2014 article in the South American Journal of Magic the POTH, or Pillars of the Hallows, is an underground organization of seven individuals created to prevent the use of the Deathly Hallows and to exhaust all possible means to neutralize the individual and collective powers contained within them, not limited to the destruction of the magical artefacts."

It wasn't exactly the answer Harry was looking for. He wanted her to confirm who else the POTH members were and from her answer it seemed that was off limits too. He did wonder why Ted didn't find the POTH document in his research but figured Hermione would have had a hand in that. He had to be honest about his disapproval if only to let her know where he stood on the matter.

"Short and sweet, although I would have added radical or extreme in there somewhere."

"Sometimes there is no taking the middle road. Sometimes more people suffer when you do," she defended and left it at that.

"Who's on it with you?" he asked more specifically.

"I can't say," she said.

He looked her in the eye, "Another Unbreakable vow?"

Hermione bit down on her lower lip and didn't answer but he knew he got it right this time.

Harry pressed on, "Burkes, Phil the Prophet Elf, Grawp, Professor Flitwick, Gummy, you. That makes a very odd mix of six. Not exactly my top picks to form such a group."

"Who the POTH are doesn't matter."

"Malvado is killing you off one at a time. We can at least help protect those left."

"The POTH can take care of themselves. There are more important people who need and will need protecting."

"Is it Dovalov or Jurnuk?" he threw the question out in the open. When Hermione remained tight lipped he continued, "I was thinking the seventh was the asshole out back but he ratted you all out and lived so he isn't it. Is it Dovalov or Jurnuk?"

He paused this time, waiting for a reaction he could read into. There was none.

Instead, she asked, "Why do you think it's one of them? Are they dead too?"

"Jurnuk is."

"That's tragic. The Brotherhood of Goblins lost a great leader."

Hermione seemed genuinely affected, and it was understandable because she and Jurnuk had worked together on many committees furthering Being rights. But she was not going to give him the information he wanted directly. He had to find some other way.

"Did you write the article?"

She shook her head and replied, "Warren did."

The revelation grated annoyingly on his nerves. He wasn't sure what irked him more, Warren knowing about the POTH way much longer than he had or that the bastard lied to him.

"He told me there were only six members."

She wasn't upset nor bothered the least bit, as if she expected it.

"You don't believe him," she pointed out the obvious.

"I don't trust him."

"You are justified not to."

"I don't understand why you do."

She explained, "He would never do anything to hurt me or my family. He doesn't care what happens to yours."

My family...yours.

"I never thought there was a distinction. Since when did you?"

"Let's not go there, Harry," she said to him with a slight impatience.

Harry backed down. Yes, that was childish, a reflection of his increasing frustration with how their conversation was going and a subconscious attempt to piss her off too. Still, it was disturbing that she trusted someone who would look after the interest of a few even if it was to the detriment of everyone else. Hermione having total confidence in Warren did not sit well with him. He had to say something. He leaned closer and spoke gravely.

“I have a bad feeling about him. If he hasn't sold you out, he will eventually.”

"Warren's loyalty to me has no price," she insisted, trying to reassure him and failing.

Harry tried to appeal to her objective nature, "I know him. You know him. He has no loyalties except to himself. I don't believe for a moment that the only reason he's after Malvado is because Malvado is a bad guy. It's not about money but he wants something else out of this. Why is he still on this case?"

She knew as much that Warren had at least one other motive for staying on board. Harry sensed that whatever it was she preferred to keep it between her and Warren for now. That or she didn't know either.

“At the end of the day he will choose to do the right thing.”

"The right thing?" he reacted in disbelief, "What was 'right' about taking Al and Rosie?"

"He wanted Rosie safe where he could keep a better eye on her. She would have given him a hard time without Al."

"And sending imposters to the Pitch?"

"He promised me he would look after your children," she answered calmly.

"All these lies..."

"To keep his word not to get you or Ron involved," she finished for him, "I really don't want us to argue about him."

"Too late, we already are."

"Harry..." Hermione pleaded but he couldn't let it go.

"What was he sorry about?"

"What?" she asked, puzzled, unsure what the question was about.

"He said he had to do it, that he didn't want to take a chance."

It was apparent instantly that it was something she wasn't keen on discussing either and she, in her usual way, tried to stall him, saying again, "It's complicated."

"I'm all ears," Harry put the pressure on, "He wasn't talking about taking Rosie, or Al, and it wasn't about the Pitch. He doesn't regret doing any of that. What was it?"

As Hermione contemplated an answer he realized something awful and said it out loud, hoping he was wrong, "You were attacked in your home. The Fidelus was broken. Warren was your Secret Keeper, wasn't he?"

"Yes, but..."

He didn't hear what followed. He completely lost the handle.

"So he already betrayed you! He almost got you killed!"

"No! He was the one who helped me escape that night!" she reasoned arduously, matching his raised voice.

"He wouldn't have had to had he not blabbed about your exact location in the first place! He almost got Hugo killed! How can you continue to trust him?!"

"It didn't happen that way!" she continued to defend the bastard, which only frustrated Harry even more, "We knew a long time ago that once Malvado realized I was the former Mistress of Death he would use Warren to get to me! There was always that risk! We just didn't count on it happening that night and weren't as prepared to deal with it as we thought we were!"

"And he just let Malvado use him? If he's so loyal to you he should have taken your exact whereabouts to the grave!"

"With or without him Malvado would have gotten to me anyway through many of you! It would have been pointless!"

"You told him to break the Fidelus?!"

"Of course, I did!"

This lack of rational thinking was driving him crazy! He wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her back to the Hermione he knew years ago, the one who made much more sense!

"Well I guess that makes it all right then! Because if you can't count on your friends to get you killed when you ask them to then who else can you count on?!"

"Exactly!"

Hurt by his sarcasm she blushed a deep red, her answer meant to put an end to their discussion. He only noticed then that they had both gotten off their seats. They were toe to toe, eyes burning in a fierce stand-off, as Harry percolated in frustration at her stubborn refusal to see Warren for who he really was.

Then Harry realized. If she told Warren to break the Fidelus then that wasn't what he was apologizing for. Warren did something else.

"Excuse me…"

They were interrupted before he could question her further. It was the asshole. At some point just before Hermione finished talking Warren must have walked in.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hope that gets us back on track.

My thanks to Cranksatnyc for the recommendation. Having such recognition is one of the best feelings a ficwriter can ever have.

55. Connections

A/N. Happy Monday! Wanted to give you another one relatively quickly– it’s again short. It doesn’t advance the story much but I needed to exorcise some bad mojo and air important matters out in the open - kinda like spring cleaning :)

Love the reviews. It's very encouraging how many of you get where I'm going with this.

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Chapter 55 – Connections

The Ex-Auror quickly figured out what was going on.

"I hate to break up arguments, especially ones about me. It’s deeply flattering, by the way. I am honoured - ”

"Warren," Hermione hissed, snapping Warren out of his meant-to-annoy ramble and refocusing him with a chastising tone.

"Oh - yes - sorry," the Canadian said insincerely, "Jericho has stepped down for health reasons and appointed the Head Auror to replace him in the interim.”

Hermione looked at Harry, somewhat in shock.

"That would be Humptail," Harry clarified, "Leo replaced me a few hours ago."

"Dammit!" she swore loudly and turned to glare at Warren.

"Don't blame me," Warren held his hands up, "I told Heartbreak here to stay away and mind his own business. Had he done that he would have kept his job and this wouldn't have happened."

"Next time Heartbreak here will try to get his priorities straight," Harry replied acidly, doing his best to take the high road and let the little thing go, "The Wizengamot will convene soon to choose a new Minister. I can't imagine them choosing Humptail."

As far as Leo's 'health' was concerned Harry didn't care and he wasn't that worried about the Ministry but Hermione had much less faith in the system.

"The Wizengamot won't but whoever is chosen will have Malvado's blessing."

Warren countered, "That should be the least of your worries. Heartbreak has to go."

Harry had enough of his taunting, "But I'm waiting for you to show your true colours. Wait, what am I saying? You don't really have true colours, do you? You just blend in and change into whatever colour protects your ass the most."

That felt good; bonus that it ticked Warren off.

Hermione chastised him, “Harry, please."

"I'm just calling it the way it is," he reasoned, and it wasn't him who started it.

"What happened?” she asked Warren.

Warren's revenge was engaging her in wordless communication again. Enough of that. He was about to eavesdrop when Hermione's eyes widened and her head snapped quickly in his direction.

“You have to go,” she told him urgently.

"I thought I just said that," Warren commented dryly.

"Humptail sent the MLE into the Pitch -," she started to tell him, immediately raising his worry level through the roof. Hermione quickly added before he could jump to bad conclusions, "They're okay. Someone from the IMP is with them, escorting them to where Al is."

With Hermione's reassurance he calmed down somewhat, his agitation displaced by a deep craving to hurt Humptail for even thinking about touching his family. He felt Hermione's hand squeezing his arm gently.

"Don't waste your energy. Humptail will get what he deserves. Right now they need you."

She was right, of course. The children would have had a fright. And Ginny. He nodded slightly and Hermione let go, aiming her attention at a stewing Warren, voice in command mode.

"Make sure the elders know that the human visitors are temporary. Take Jessie with you."

Warren argued, "Hewitt? No, not a good idea."

Hermione reminded him, "You brought her into this."

"Only to save your life. You're welcome, by the way. Why can't we just Obliviate her?"

"No!"

"Absolutely not!"

He and Hermione had the very same reaction.

"Geez, lighten up you two. I was just kidding. You do realize Finnigan's going to have a fit."

"Seamus will understand. He'll just have to live with it. And take Grudy and her team, too"

Warren didn't like that idea either, "If you get ambushed again..."

"They're loyal but they're not going to make a difference."

Harry interjected, "I'm with him on this."

She rolled her eyes and countered, "I'm the only one allowed to do any mothering around here. And don't either of you dare insult me by mentioning Hugo. I can take care of him. We'll be fine. We'll regroup at Pag-asa."

Hermione was firm on it and both he and Warren knew not to push. Harry had a suggestion.

“Why not come with us?”

Warren let out a low whistle, “I’d love to see that.”

He was alluding to Ginny and Hermione being at the same place at the same time. Harry thought nothing of it, rationalizing that for them it should be no different than before he found out about Hugo. In fact, he was confident things between them would be better. But Hermione had a different perspective.

"It’s best if we didn’t, for Lily. I imagine she's still having a very tough time with this."

Hermione was right. Even though showing up with Hermione wasn't wrong he didn't want to hurt his daughter more than he already had. He had yet to talk to Lily about Hugo and he wasn’t sure if or when Lily would be up to talking. He had to remember that she was only thirteen.

Warren snorted, “In my opinion it’s about time the princess see what it’s like in the real world.”

Harry spoke back, “Shut up. Nobody asked you.”

“Whatever. You -” Warren pointed at Hermione and reminded her, “See you at the village. And don't do anything stupid until then."

"Since when have I ever done anything stupid without you?"

"Right. Heard that one before," Warren was unconvinced and said to Harry, "Watch out for her - she lies."

"And you think I'd listen to you because...?"

Warren laughed, "I get it that you don't trust me. There's only one person in this room who does and I've told her many times she's wrong about me. One of these days, I will prove it."

"So you've been telling me for twenty years," was Hermione's unimpressed answer. "Are you done picking on him?"

“I’m just warming up,” Warren pressed on, "It bogs my mind why she insists on trusting me blindly. She's been on a wild run lately; resurrecting Jean Peverell, meeting the Being elders as the Mistress of Death, staying at her house knowing that Malvado was on his way. She had time to send Hugo to you. Doesn’t it make you wonder why she didn’t Port key out with him?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, waiting for an answer but she wasn't planning on giving one.

"Warren, we don't have time for this," she said instead.

"You know what all this recklessness reminds me of?”

“Just ignore him, Harry. He’s just being a prick.”

But Harry wanted to hear what Warren had to say.

“What does it remind you of?” he asked.

The Canadian happily obliged, “How she was like around the time you got hitched. She was unpredictable and illogical then, murky on the inside, constantly crossing lines and daring fate to do its worst. I've always loved that suicidal side of hers. Talk about hot, whew! She was to die for. Have you ever seen that side of hers, Harry?"

Harry gritted his teeth, internally cringing at Warren's open reference to their previous intimacy and her past that he had no clue existed. Warren was who he was to Hermione because of the circumstances Harry left her in and the asshole was making sure he realized that. She trusted Warren because he let her down. If Harry didn't like it, he only had himself to blame.

It was an invite to a pissing contest of who knew her best. Warren was flexing his knowledge, daring Harry to question it, to piss back. And they both knew Harry couldn’t even if he wanted to. They had been out of touch for years and his confidence of his knowledge of her was at an all time low. He’d lose handily. But just the thought of admitting the obvious was sickening.

Hermione stepped up to the plate for him, telling Warren exactly what he wanted to hear, "He hasn't - no other person has - only you - because you're special. Satisfied?"

Warren sighed wistfully for show before saying, "Honey, your words warm the cockles of my heart."

Harry flushed some more, thinking of the many ways to erase the arse's arrogant expression. The one good thing about all this banter between them was that Hermione seemed eager to end it.

She reminded them with more urgency, "You really need to get moving."

He had to leave but unsure of when they'd see each other again and still quite worried about her, Harry couldn't just go without having a final word.

"We need to talk for a second; in private."

Warren scoffed at his request, commenting, "You sure have interesting priorities."

The insult bothered Hermione more that it did him but even though Hermione hesitated, his ask was something she wouldn't refuse.

"Warren, can you give us...?"

The Canadian didn't let her finish.

"Okay, okay, you don't have to tell me. I'll get the others ready."

Resentful of the dismissal, Warren stomped off through the kitchen door. They were alone again but now in a tense stillness.

He broke their silence with a question.

"Why are you making this so difficult?"

"I'm not," she replied earnestly, then tried to explain, "It's just that I didn't figure you’d be here."

"But I am here."

"I see that."

"I'm not going away."

"I realize that."

"I'm seeing this through."

"I know."

"Then let me help you."

"I'm trying!"

The intensity in her eyes and the strain in her voice rang of a desperate need for him to believe her. She was trying, or at least she believed she was.

"I want to understand," he intimated, "But it's like I don't know you and it's an awful feeling to not know you."

Harry was hoping she would say something that would take away the bad taste of what he just said. It hurt her to hear it and he tried to take it back.

"I'm sorry," he apologized.

But he was too late. Tears welled up in her eyes and guilt filled him. This was the last thing he wanted to happen.

"No, no, please don't-"

He reached for her the same time she took his hand and placed his palm against her chest, holding it there, very much like he held hers against his that very first night he told her how he felt about her. The dizzying, frenetic chaos just moments before dissipated. Time and all else stood still.

Her beating heart thumped fiercely against his bare flesh, immersing him in a tidal wave of memories of the countless times they touched - physically, mentally, emotionally - the steady cadence of her blood and her life coursed through him, reminding him of their deep and eternal connection.

In the rush of emotions he didn't notice that he had closed his eyes, until he heard Hermione speak and he opened them directly into an ocean of rich brown.

"You do know me, Harry," she said gently, "It's me. I'm still me. And just because Warren knows things about me that you don't it doesn't mean that he knows me better than you do. You shouldn't let him get to you that way."

She let go of his hand but held his gaze. He nodded, appreciating how she set him straight. He should know better than to fall prey to Warren's mind games and realize that Warren would take full advantage of his weakness. With renewed confidence and pressured by an urgent necessity, he took the opportunity that was presenting itself.

"Hermione, you're wrong about him. He doesn't care about you the way you think he does."

"Harry-" she interrupted, not wanting to get into an argument about Warren again.

"How can you be so sure?"

With reluctance she told him, "I see what he sees and I feel what he does. I know how he feels about me."

That was painful for Harry to take. This thing, this bond of sorts she had with Warren was something he didn't fully understand. He quickly determined that much of it was envy. He was jealous of it, of how easily Warren could make her believe he cared about her when it was something Harry had struggled with and failed to do. But...

"I'm sorry but I'm still not buying it."

She was amused, "Is it so hard to believe that someone cares about me?"

Hermione was teasing him. He wasn't going to let her make light of the situation.

"You know it's not that," he was struggling to find the right words, then decided to pick a more concrete illustration, "lf he really cared about you he would have never broken the Fidelius. Had I been your secret keeper I never would have."

She answered simply, "That’s why I chose someone else."

In a way he understood. Hermione would value her secret keeper more than her secret but knew that he would value her secret more than his life. It still annoyed him that she picked Warren and that Warren put her life at risk. To him it was proof that Warren didn’t care. Unfortunately, he couldn’t convince Hermione to see it that way. He had to ask the burning question.

"What's he to you nowadays?"

"The same as he's always been; a good friend," Hermione replied vaguely.

Maybe he should have asked the question differently. He weighed her response. Somehow he felt she was downplaying it. They seemed more a couple now than they were before. His old emotional battles about her with other men and his struggles with his self-imposed rule not to meddle in her affairs resurfaced. He really hated the idea of her and Warren having a relationship in whatever shape or form. But it did make him wonder; had Warren been a regular, trustworthy bloke, would he feel the same way?

Admittedly, his judgment was less than completely objective but Hermione's was likely not totally objective either. Nonetheless, Harry felt it his obligation to make sure Warren didn't get the opportunity to sell her out again and if Warren did, he would be there to make sure nothing bad happened to her and Hugo.

Blag!Blag!Blag!

Loud successive banging on the door broke their conversation. Her impatient 'good friend' called out from behind it, in a cheerful sing-song voice.

"Honey! Sweetheart! I'm not a fucking cab driver! I don't have all day!"

"You better go," she said to him. Then she apologized, "I know it's frustrating. It's frustrating for me too. When we talk again, I'll tell you what I can."

That was fine for now. He was getting the sense that there was something above her holding her back from telling him everything. Or maybe it was someone?

The door suddenly swung open, Warren's ugly face jutted into the kitchen.

"Honey," Warren addressed Hermione with a fake smile, "His wife and children are waiting."

"Right. Thanks for the reminder."

"No problem. Anytime."

Warren retreated. Hermione had one last thing to say.

“Ginny will not want to stay there. Shell Cottage will do for now but I suggest having a back-up, in case this goes on longer than expected.”

“I’ll find a place,” he assured her, then asked of her one other thing, “Promise me you'll avoid getting yourself killed."

That made her smile.

"I’ll do my best,” she promised, “At least until we see each other again."

They moved from the kitchen to the sitting room where a confused Jessie and the elves were gathered anxiously around an old Quidditch jersey, one of his. Warren was smirking with satisfaction in reaction to Hermione's disapproval of his choice of a Port Key.

He took the empty spot across from where Warren stood just as the jersey glowed a deep blue. Looking up he caught Hugo watching him. The kid wore this intense determination, an obvious mask for something less positive. Harry found it unsettling. He wanted to know what Hugo was trying to hide.

As the room spun and Hermione's and Hugo's images blurred, he began hearing Hugo's private thoughts.

"It'll be okay. We've survived without him for years. Mum and I will be just fine."

His son's brave words pulled at his insides and stung. He couldn't deny the truth. They had been fine without him. They would probably be fine without him.

But Harry had a huge problem with that. Knowing what he knew now he was certain that he would not be fine without them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo watched as the last remnants of his father disappeared into thin air.

"Are you okay?" his Mum asked him, concern in her voice.

He wavered at first. He didn't want to admit how much he wanted his father to stay. He didn't want to hope too much and set himself up for disappointment. He didn't want to have more reasons to be angry.

"He will be back to help, right?"

It sounded so childish to ask and he immediately regretted asking it. His Mum seemed cool about it.

"Yes, he will."

There was no shred of doubt in her answer.

"What if he doesn't come back?"

"I know your father. I couldn't keep him away even if I wanted to," she replied, "Do you have your stuff?"

Hugo nodded, slinging his rucksack on his back.

"Where to, Mum?"

His mum answered, "Godric's Hollow."

He felt her grip tighten and he steadied himself, keeping his eyes shut as they spun in place. He opened them when he felt cool wind on his skin.

It was almost dawn, the sun was just about to break through the horizon. They were in a cemetery. There was singing in the background, coming from the church nearby.

He wondered why she brought him here. And why now?

"This way."

He followed his Mum's lead. They weaved through a path in between very old tombstones away from the church, leaves crunching in the wake of their footsteps. A few meters down she stopped and pointed to the well kempt tombs on the right side.

"Your grandparents'."

Hugo swallowed the lump in his throat as he read their names and the writings below them. He knew they were buried there but never felt a connection until now. His Mum stood beside him and spoke softly.

"You are his son. Now that he knows he will keep coming for you. It's time you stopped fighting it."

"What if I still don't want him to be in my life?"

"Why wouldn't you?"

"A part of me still hates him for what he did to you."

She smiled sympathetically, "I know you're looking out for me but what happened between your father and I had nothing to do with you. He did what he had to do."

"He had a choice."

"A choice that would have made us both unhappy. We cared too much about each other to let that happen."

Then, without thinking, his let his emotions leak out, "It would have been perfect if I hadn't come along."

"Don't say that."

His chest began to hurt as he added, "But it's true. I was an accident, a mistake that shouldn't have happened."

His Mum looked straight into his eyes and said, "You were unplanned. You weren't an accident and definitely not a mistake. Sometimes the best things in life come to you when you least expect it."

Hugo understood what she was trying to say but couldn't think he was the best thing that happened in her life. He wanted to believe it though.

He brushed the pesky tears off his cheeks as his Mum put her arm around him and hugged him, telling him in a soothing voice, "Hugo, it isn't his fault. It was mine. I didn't tell him about you. Had he known he would have been there for us right from the very start."

Hugo couldn't stop crying now. It was annoying that he couldn't. And the gnawing pain in his chest kept on hurting.

"But it was his fault. He chose them over you. He was married. He had no business being with you when he had no intention of leaving his family. And had he stayed with you, you wouldn't have had to keep me a secret."

She sighed. This was as difficult for her as it was for him.

"In time you'll realize that not all things in life are black and white, especially when we most wish they were," she always said that when things didn't make sense, "I know you think you hate him but I know you. What are you really afraid of?"

His Mum was right. He tried so hard to hate his father. He used ‘hate’ to describe how he felt about his father often enough that he really felt that he did. But it wasn't what he was feeling now.

"What if I let him into my life and he'll choose them over me?"

It was a relief to finally say it; his fear that his father would turn his back on him just like he turned his back on his Mum.

His mother tried to set his mind at rest, "Your father will never do that."

"He doesn't care about me."

"That's not true."

"I am nobody to him."

"Stop," his Mum turned and held his face up to her as he wept. She had tears in her eyes too when she spoke to him, her tone firm yet comforting, "Don't make yourself less than who you are. You are his son. In his eyes you are no less than James, Al or Lily are his children. You too are his flesh and blood and you will always have a part of him in you. Your father is a good man; give him a chance. He will not let you down."

Hugo took in her words and felt more truth in them than he had in the past. He sobbed openly in her arms, accepting that there was no fighting it. In the couple of days since knowing about him his father did try to set things right between them. He even annoyingly and predictably exercised his authority as a parent. Then there was the encounter with Malvado. Hugo blew it and had his father not been there, he would be dead. And maybe, even just for that Hugo would try harder.

When he finally stopped crying he pulled away and looked down upon his grandparents' graves, feeling guilt and shame for his past disrespect for anything and anyone associated with Harry Potter. He remembered their story, their heroism, their sacrifice. He, their snotty grandchild, had no right to be the way he had been to them. With remorse, he took his wand out and showered rose petals over their tombstones.

As he said a little apology, Hugo felt his Mum's hand on his shoulder.

"Come, I want to show you something else."

They walked a short distance and came up to a much older part of the cemetery. With the limited light he could barely make out the name on the tombstone where they had stopped but when he saw the Hallows symbol, he knew it belonged to Ignotus Peverell.

He watched his Mum approach the gap beside it. She got on her knees and began gently clearing a portion that was covered with a thick layer of dried leaves and twigs. Then she stopped. Underneath was a small, grey, marble tablet set flat against the ground.

Hugo knelt beside her and read the coarse dark markings on it.

Jean Peverell, 28 May 2003

Warren had told Hugo about 'Jean Peverell'. Jean Peverell was the alias his Mum had used on the first case she and Warren worked on.

"I don't understand."

His Mum met his confusion with a quiet calmness.

"I heard you spoke with the Hag. I assume you want to know more about your sister. This was where she died."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Now that I’ve cleared most of the angst off my plate, I think we can move forward.

56. A Mother's Apology, A Son's Forgiveness

A/N. I never thought I'd write the Hugo-Hermione scene here but someone asked and by happy coincidence, it made it in time for Mother's Day! Happy Mother's Day to all mothers and mothers to be.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 56 – A Mother's Apology, A Son's Forgiveness

The Being Village of Pag-asa

"Flick it, don't flourish it," Al said to Juan, a teenage elf, as the poor Being kept on missing his Malvado henchman target practice some two meters away.

"Keep it low but ready. That way your arms won't get tired," he overheard Rosie instruct Lucas, a thirteen-year old vampire.

There were about twenty Being youngsters lined up in the clearing, each one with wands custom built by a local goblin wandmaker. They were learning the basics of offense and defence from Al and Rosie as well as and from a few other wand skilled Beings. While it would seem like a better idea for them to develop and practice their natural attack and survival skills, they were so young that they would never be able to match up to Malvado’s adult and highly trained goons. A wand wielding magical being army was something Malvado would never expect and hence wouldn't be prepared for.

When Gates asked them to help this was far from what he and Rosie imagined help would look like. Teaching novices was one thing; teaching novices wand magic for an eventual war against the most Dark magical syndicate this part of the world had seen ever was another. And Al still couldn't believe that he and Rosie were the tutors here, when neither of them had even used the skills they were teaching outside their Hogwarts DADA class.

It was obvious to him that Gates did something to force him to come here but the moment he got through the wards and saw what the village was about Al didn’t need any more persuasion to stay. Pag-asa was a hidden village of refugees on the brink of taking up wands to push back and help fight the bully who forced them there, the very same bully who caused death and injury to their families. He listened to the horrifying tales of torture and murder, the thought that such atrocities could be tolerated anywhere in the modern world never crossing his mind. He could only imagine what it was like waking up every day to this tension, of the hand of Death hanging over their heads by a thin thread, and he was glad for the opportunity to help.

"Tiya Maria is back," announced Julia excitedly, the half-bodied being floating around without legs and feet.

Everyone turned towards the two women who were making their way to the class. Al surmised that 'Tiya Maria' was the woman with Gracie, the owner of the restaurant where they had an encounter with Malvado's goons. Gracie took their students off to practice, leaving them with the new arrival. Tiya Maria spoke to Rosie first.

"You're Rosie. You're just as your Mum described you. My name is Maria Ortega."

She held out her hand out and Rosie shook it politely.

"I don't know you," his cousin replied honestly.

"I wouldn't think so. I worked with your Mum years before you were born, when she was with the IMP," after which she turned to address him, "And you're Albus Potter."

"Al," he corrected, a reflex really because he was not very fond of that name, nor his middle one for that matter.

Maria paused and stared at him for a long time, and it became so uncomfortable Al had to ask her, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"I'm sorry for being rude," she apologized, "You do realize you have an uncanny resemblance to your brother."

Al corrected her again, "You mean my half brother."

He had been ogled at enough all day and it was growing old.

"Yes. You really shouldn't be here," the woman said to him with a concerned look on her face.

"He wants to be here," Rosie answered for him, then asked what Gates, Gracie and the rest were avoiding to tell them, "What does Malvado want with my brother?"

The Maria character was somewhat aghast as she realized, "Nobody told you about the prophecy."

"What prophecy?" he and Rosie asked in unison.

"That your brother, Hugo, is the only one who can put an end to Malvado's reign."

That drew a gasp from Rosie and being the protective sister (and the way she was) pointed out, "But he can't be! He's only thirteen!"

"Dios mio! You are as excitable as your mother can be," Maria commented innocently, not knowing how much Rosie didn't like being compared to her Mum, "The Prophecy said that he is but it didn't say how old he would be when he did it, if he did it. Although I must say, Beings are weary and they hope it's soon."

"Prophecies can be wrong," Al pointed out in the hopes of lessening Rosie's anxiety.

"True. But the fact that it was made is enough to set things in motion. Many Beings here believe it, because they are fatalistic and they have been hopeless for so long they're ready to believe anything that will give them that. Malvado is not a fool. He doesn't really believe some boy will cause his end either but nonetheless wants the suggestion it makes crushed before it grows bigger. He wants to keep the Beings hopeless so much that getting rid of your brother is important enough to now merit his undivided attention. And you," she turned to Al, "Could easily be mistaken for him. It's not safe for you to be in these parts."

Al swallowed the lump in his throat as both Rosie and Maria looked on. He had no ready answer to what she just said. Decidedly, after hearing about what he did to Beings he didn't approve of,he was afraid of Malvado but what bothered him more was being under Hugo's shadow. It bothered him that he was expected not to be here because he looked like Hugo. They must all assume he would leave once he found out, that's why they've been keeping the truth from him. Did they all think he was a coward?! Yes, he might be afraid of Malvado but he was not going to run away and hide just because he might get killed, and most definitely not because he looked like Hugo!

Keeping in mind not to be disrespectful, he replied calmly, "If I get killed because I look like Hugo then it'll happen whether I'm here or somewhere else. I'd rather be here and help get this over with."

Maria was about to answer but a commotion at the Village entrance drew their attention. Al instantly recognized one of the new comers.

He ran towards him, calling out, "Dad!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Godric’s Hollow

Hugo was speechless as he tried to take in what his Mum just said. He had planned to ask his Mum about what the Hag said but never expected his Mum to come to him. He listened eagerly as she continued.

"I was only a few weeks pregnant when I lost her and she was so tiny there was no physical proof that she ever existed. There is no actual tomb here. Warren thought it would help me grieve."

His Mum must have remembered how painful it felt then for she looked away, taking a moment to compose herself. Hugo waited patiently, wondering various things, including how his sister died and why nobody knew about her. He instantly questioned where his father was during her death and why it was Warren who helped her grieve.

The tombstone called out to him, the date on it screaming for attention.

2003 May 28

Hugo counted back the months repeatedly, his pulse pounding crazy as he did. It was easily more than a year before James was born. He was trying to look past the obvious, unable to believe that their deception went back that far in the past. And his Mum had always given him the impression that the affair that produced him happened suddenly and without warning, and that it ended shorly after it started. His face betrayed his confusion and his Mum explained.

"Long before he married your Aunt Ginny, your father and I fell in love. We had been friends for the longest time and we never expected it to happen. But it did and before long he moved into Grimmauld with me."

"But nobody knew?"

She shook her head, "We didn't tell anyone."

"Because you were cheating on Aunt Ginny and on Dad?"

"It wasn't like that," his Mum clarified, "We weren't doing anything wrong. He and your Aunt Ginny had broken up a couple of months before and your Dad and I weren't together either."

That was a relief but it puzzled Hugo even more.

"Then why didn't you?"

"For many reasons, all of them unimportant now even though they seemed like a big deal back then. It was just me. Your father wanted everyone to know from day one but he agreed to do things my way because he has always respected my wishes. Looking back later on I realized that the reasons were because I wanted to delay it for as long as I could, just in case things didn't work out. I was very insecure then. I kept thinking that your father was wrong about how he felt and that he would realize soon that he didn't really want to be with me. I didn't trust him to know himself well enough and I was scared, scared of letting people know, and I didn't want to hurt people I cared about for nothing.

"But I wanted so much to be wrong. Then one night, we talked, and I wasn't scared anymore. He asked me to marry him. I said yes and that was when I told him about our baby."

Never in a million years would Hugo have guessed that. He knew of his Mum and Dad's on and off relationship but he had always assumed his father and Aunt Ginny were together since they left Hogwarts. He couldn't contain his curiosity.

"What happened next?"

"The Morpheus Gaunt case. During an undercover operation, things soured really fast. My partner, Dean, your Uncle Seamus' best friend, got killed and your father took an AK for me. He nearly died saving my lfe. I was badly hurt and I lost our baby. When I woke up days later he was back with your Aunt Ginny. He had lost his memory of us."

It must have been horrible, he thought, waking up to that. Hugo now understood why it was Warren who helped her get through it but couldn't stop the hard questions that came to his mind right then. He didn't know much about love but shouldn't this kind, if true, overcome all that? Even though he almost died saving her, how could his father abandon his Mum and turn his affection back to Aunt Ginny so easily? And how could his mother just accept it?

He looked up and saw her scrutinizing his reaction. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't totally understand why she didn't say anything.

"Mum," he said as he summoned up the courage to ask, "Why didn't you fight for him? Why didn't you remind him?"

His Mum sighed, like she usually did when he asked a question she didn't like to answer. He wasn't sure if she would so he took a guess, "Was it because you didn't think he or anyone else would believe you and you didn't want to end up being his crazy friend who lost her marbles?"

His Mum laughed lightly, amused at his analysis.

"Am I close?"

"There was that in the beginning," she admitted, "I sooner assumed I was right all along, that he didn't care about me that much in the first place, so I kept my mouth shut and wallowed about the unfairness of it all. I wasn't so smart then."

She smiled to herself, as if she found that funny.

"I don't think it's funny."

"It wasn’t funny then either," she replied.

"Did you ever consider telling him?"

"One should never have to solicit another person's affection. You might get it but it won't feel the same as love that's freely given to you."

Hugo couldn't agree more but he noticed that she didn't really answer his question. Leave it to her to find time to preach during all this. He stayed with it.

"You thought about telling him."

"There were moments I did think about it."

"But?"

"Telling him would have literally killed him."

Hugo frowned.

She added, "And I can't give you details because it still could."

After he heard that he craved for the details even more. But he recognized her tone as final and absolute and didn't push. She wouldn't lie about something like that. She did have more to say.

"The Healers said he was unlikely to regain his memory but your father proved them wrong. Remembering four years later was very difficult for him."

"That's when you had the affair," Hugo stated as he realized.

She nodded and answered, "It lasted for about a month. We both knew it wasn't right. It was eating us up and we couldn't stay together. He considered leaving his family then but that wasn't a real option because of the kind of person he is."

That, Hugo could understand. He wouldn't admit it before but he did respect his father for not abandoning James, Al and Lily. And if the other woman was someone other than his Mum, he would have been perfectly fine with his father's choice of staying with them. In his opinion, that should be black and white; leaving one's wife and children for another woman should be wrong. Recognizing that he had double standards was extremely troubling.

His Mum continued to defend his father's decision.

"Your father did what he thought was best for the people he cared about the most and though it may not seem like he made the right choices, they were the only ones that he could truly be at peace with."

"You never wished for him to leave Aunt Ginny?"

"I did, many times. But I'm glad that he didn't. His conscience wouldn't have let him rest and he would have lost himself. And in the end he would have been miserable."

"Was that why you didn't tell him about me? Because you didn't want him to leave them and be miserable? Because you loved him?"

"Yes. And because I love you. I didn't want that life for you. I really thought I could protect you from all that. It goes to show that I'm not always right and that people do the stupidest things because of love. I hope you can forgive me for making that choice for you."

It had been a long time since they talked about this and, although she may have before, it was the first time Hugo heard her apologize. Having had a lot of time to brew on the matter with Isa he had come to accept that while he wasn't given a choice, his Mum didn't have much to work with. He had to let her know that there was nothing to feel guilty about.

"It's not that you could have asked me what I wanted. And even though he wasn't around around to be my Dad, I can definitely say I would have hated growing up as his other son. I've only been that a couple of days and I hate it already. So either way, you wouldn't have made a right choice. It was a no-win situation for you."

So maybe that didn't come out so positively.

His Mum joked lightheartedly, "That makes me feel a lot better. Thanks."

"Seriously. It's been just as terrible as I expected it would be but I think I'm better about the whole thing now that it's out there and with what you've just told me. I mean, I'm not going to give him hugs or call him Dad or anything like that so I hope you're not going to start expecting me to because that will definitely drive me up the wall," he was straight with her.

"Okay, I promise I won't have such expectations," his Mum replied.

"No hoping either," he added.

"Why not?"

"You'd just be disappointed."

"You drive a hard bargain. Any other demands?"

"Just one more," he paused to make sure she was all ears, "Stop beating yourself up about it. I'll be fine."

Tears welled up in her eyes and Hugo couldn't understand why she didn't believe him.

"Really Mum. I wasn't so sure before we came here but now I'm sure I will be. Just don't feel bad about me anymore."

She nodded, fighting the tears.

"Okay. I'll try," she got herself together, "Maybe once I get over the fact that my thirteen year old son is giving me advice. How did you get to be like this?"

He blushed, the pride in her voice causing a discomfort to wash over him.

"Mum, stop, you're embarrassing me."

"I'm embarrassing you? You just put me through psychotherapy."

He had to smile.

"Sorry."

"Just don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to preserve."

She wasn't really serious; she knew he would never.

"Okay. This will be our secret."

"And Hugo, I trust you to know who to share this with and how much. There are good reasons why you're only the third person to know about your sister."

She was referring to the other Potter children. She was concerned about them judging their father harshly as Hugo had before. And he could imagine what it would feel like finding out your family came to be only because your father lost his memory. There was no need for them to know.

He nodded to let her know that he understood, relieved that his Mum didn't ask him to keep it totally to himself. He wanted to tell Isa at least, and maybe Spencer.

"Mum - "

"Yes?"

"Thanks for taking me here."

"I had to. I couldn't let you go on thinking you were some mistake."

Although Hugo still had questions he certainly didn't feel that way about his existence anymore.

"Can we stay a while?"

"Of course," she answered, as the congregation began filtering out of the church, "We have plenty of time."

XXXXXXXXXX

St. Petersburg

George Bones was a very loyal man. In his many years as an Auror, he never worked for anyone else but Harry Potter and he had no intention of working for anyone else but him. Like many, George was drawn by the legend that surrounded the man, but with each mission and each case, he quickly realized that there was more to the Head Auror than just the hype. He was as ordinary as the next Auror in many ways but he led by example and lead with the interests of everyone in mind, including the men who worked for him.

So when he got the news that Harry Potter had been sacked and that he was to report back to the Ministry to answer to Humptail, the decision not to was a simple one. George would follow Harry Potter into any battle and fight with him because he would without a doubt lead them to fight for what's right.

His instructions from Harry were clear - to find out more about the recently deceased Caraktakus Burkes Jr., the Russian ex-Auror Dovalov and the current Head of Great Britain's Dept of Mysteries Cristos Maximus. While the Headmaster and the professors at Durmstrang were cooperative, most of them did not know the three when they were students and it seemed that none had very useful information. He had spent much of his night going through the school student archives looking for needles in the haystack and came up with a few leads.

He had just Apparated to the fifth one on his list, Dovalov's childhood home in St. Petersburg. This was a long shot but his gut would not let him skip it. It was in a largely Muggle neighbourhood of middle income families, a park and a school nearby, the very one which Dovalov attended prior to his admission to Durmstrang.

The house was a bungalow and though older and smaller compared to the others in the neighborhood, was on one of the bigger lots in the area. An old, crooked sign lay haphazardly on the front lawn.

For Sale or Lease

George had referenced Muggle records and found out that Dovalov's family had sold it a long time ago. The property had also been bought and sold many times over. It was because of this that he wanted to check it out.

"Looking for a home, are you?" a man, maybe about sixty, said to him in Russian.

George nodded and replied in the same language, "The kids will love this big yard. And the wife, she loves to garden."

The man frowned, "I wouldn't live in it if they gave it to me for free."

"Why is that?"

"I live next door. I know this house," then he paused, scrutinizing George under the rim of his glasses, and then deciding to hold back, "You're a nice kid. I suggest that you look someplace else."

George wanted to keep the conversation going, "The house is old but I reckon I can fix her up."

"Son, do you think you're the first to think that?" the old man scoffed, then limped along the sidewalk, muttering, "Kids these days, give them sound advice, they don't listen."

"Sir, wait!" George called out and came up to the old man, thinking about how to get him to talk more. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be crass. It's just that the wife, we've driven by it and she's set her mind that it is the place. She really loves the neighbourhood. And I love my wife, she's the mother of my four children, fifth one on the way. I give her everything her heart desires, I want her to continue to talk with me and she'll need good reasons why I'm not even going to take her to see the house."

"Pregnant, huh. Yes, no visits. Wouldn't want to give her a fright."

"What's wrong with the house?"

The man gave him another glance over and tipped his head towards his house, signalling George to follow him. As soon as they were within the tall, thick hedges that demarcated one property from the other, the Muggle turned to him and began talking.

"It is inhabited by a tortured soul."

"A ghost?"

The old man nodded, "A poor spirit who wants to rest but can't. She haunts the place, re-enacting for any audience her agonizing death, in my opinion, until someone can bring her murderers to justice."

"Who is she?"

"Her name is - was Larysa Dovalov. Her family used to live there. I went to school with her and her twin brother until they went off to boarding school. She was a lovely person, beautiful, both on the outside and the inside. During the summers she volunteered at the kid camps with me and my sister. Everyone adored her. Can't say the same for her brother."

The tone of their conversation changed from warm to cold.

"I knew the first time I met Boris Dovalov that he was up to no good. He was full of himself, always thought he was better than everyone else. He kept on saying that he had special powers or something crazy like that.

"Every summer he came back his arrogance got worse, particularly whenever his two school friends were visiting. A bad mix, my mother used to say, unfortunately proven that summer day Larysa died."

"What happened?"

"Do you believe in sorcery, son?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure my mother-in-law is a witch," he couldn't resist the quip but that didn't elicit a smile.

"I'm serious," and it showed on his face and in the gravity in his voice, "Sorcery caused her death."

"How so?"

"It was towards the end of the summer. I recall that day as vividly as if it happened today. I was roused at midnight by loud screaming coming from their house. And it wasn't just any scream - shrill, bone-chilling, like someone was being physically torn apart. I will never forget it."

He shuddered, the traumatic experience pouring through his eyes. The man continued.

"It was Larysa. She was only seventeen, her whole life ahead of her. She died that day, of what no one around here was really sure of but we all knew her brother and his friends had something to do with it," he declared.

"You're certain."

The man had a fit of coughing, and when George asked if he was okay he brushed him off, eager to tell the story.

"They were with her when she passed. I witnessed them. After I heard the scream, my mother called the police. I ran next door to see if I could help. Nobody was answering the front door so I went around the house, checking for any open windows or doors. I couldn't get in but through one of the windows in the back, I saw his so-called friends, fighting, arguing loudly, the English boy screaming at the other to do something, the other yelling back that he didn't know what to do. Boris was passed out on the floor beside his sister.

"I smashed the window just as the police came in and broke up the fight. But we were all too late. Larysa was dead. Boris was in hospital for a long time. Though he survived I heard his father and mother couldn't forgive him and disowned him in the wake of the tragedy. His friends were detained and questioned for a day then released without any consequences. The police had no conclusive proof of wrongdoing and her parents didn't press charges. The family sold the house shortly after the tragedy. I never saw them again."

"You mentioned sorcery."

The Muggle got a bit uncomfortable but shared, "My wife thinks I dreamt it after the fact. What I'm about to tell you is not in any police report; strange because I saw it and many policemen saw it. At least that's what I remember."

George deduced that whatever happened required massive Obliviation and memory alteration of witnesses. It wasn't uncommon for the effects of Obliviation to wane after a while. His pulse quickened as he asked.

"What was it that you saw?"

"The room was Boris'. It was a mess. There were many books of sorcery strewn about but even through the chaos there was something about the room that looked staged, like there was some ceremony going on. There was an altar in the corner with a poster of a man dressed in robes. I don't remember the name but it said that he was the greatest sorcerer of all time."

The man wavered for a second, then with a look of fear whispered, "There was someone else in the room, a figure clothed in a black cloak, with blood shot eyes that burned of demonic fervour. He floated like a mist from a deep dark hole in the ground and lingered over and around Larysa, as if trying to merge with her body. I think it was the devil himself."

George didn't know exactly what it all meant or what to say but asked the man an important question.

"This figure, what happened to it?"

The Muggle answered, "When he couldn't do what he wanted to do with Larysa's body, he headed for one of Boris' friends and vanished."

George thanked him for his time then shook his hand, gathering the last piece of information through Legilimiens as he did. What he found out wasn't a complete surprise.

Once he was out of the Muggle's sight, he pulled out his phone and connected to Harry's. The Head Auror answered.

George spoke, "I'm in St. Petersberg. I may have something. It's about Max."

XXXXXXXXXX

The Ministry of Magic, London

In the last hour, Ron kept glancing at the face of his watch, hoping for some sign of anyone who could help. The guards had been gone for a while, leaving him alone with the still unconscious Ernie in the small Ministry holding cell, Trussel's men complacent that they had no means of escape.

Somebody had to have Hermione’s locket. Hermione always wore it and MLE protocols dictated that personal effects of victims were to be collected and turned over to family. Since nothing was turned over to him Jessie must have it. Hopefully she didn’t store it in some cupboard within the Ministry; unless, she never got it from the SAMP, which wouldn’t be unusual considering the circumstances of the attack on Hermione. Or maybe it was with Hermione and she was still alive somewhere.

His heart skipped a beat at the thought. Ron certainly hoped she was still alive. The woman who everyone thought was her was definitely not her and her questioning strongly suggested that Hermione could be. But if she were then why wouldn’t she send word to them that she was?

None of the answers he came up with were reassuring. He looked at his watch again. His hope was to get a warning out to the gang that he and Ernie were being held for what sounded like insubordination and possible treason. There was also getting help to escape. Ron couldn’t think that Humptail would keep them in the Ministry for much longer. He’d really rather not spend any time at all at Azkaban.

He thought of Ann and the twins, and Rosie. He had so much to live for. He was almost sure they were okay somewhere, maybe at the Pitch or at Shell Cottage, for if they weren’t Trussell and Humptail would have gloated about it already.

A moan came from behind him and he walked closer to the bunk bed where Ernie was beginning to wake up. Ernie's eyes fluttered open and as he adjusted to the light in the room he brought his hand up to the huge bump on his head, rubbng it.

"You okay, mate?" Ron asked while helping Ernie sit up.

"My head hurts."

"Understandably so," Ron remarked, "You've got a bump the size of a bludger on it. What happened?"

"I'm not sure," Ernie frowned, "I was in my office when I got a call from Neville. He said to meet him at Finnigan's. Then I blacked out. How did I get here?"

"Trussell. Leo replaced Harry with Humptail not a few hours ago. They were going to arrest Harry on suspicion of treason."

"What? Are they out of their minds? The Wizengamot and the public would never believe it. That would never stick, not on Harry anyway.”

Ron agreed, “Something is up. And I’d rather be outside when I find out.”

"We're prisoners?!" Ernie exclaimed, standing up abruptly as he just realized.

“No, we’re in a five-star hotel,” Ron said dryly, "You must have hit your head really hard."

Ernie was panicking, "We can’t stay here? I’ve never been in jail before. What’s going to happen?”

“Ernie…”

“What about my family? This is going to be dreadful for them. Have we been officially charged?”

“Calm the fuck down!” Ron shoved Ernie back down on the cot.

“We can’t stay here!” Ernie stood right back up and repeated, screaming back.

“Do you think I don’t know that?!”

“We have to escape!” the MLE deputy hissed.

“That’s an excellent idea!”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

Ron clenched his fist and urged self control. Granted that Ernie was a long time friend and Ron still remembered how he joined them in the fight against Voldemort, that was years ago. Fuck. You really do get to know people when the going gets tough.

Ernie carried on, “What’s the plan?!”

It was so tempting to deck him, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything.

“We’re wandless and inside an Auror jail cell designed to hold hardened dark wizards,” Ron pointed out, “I am trying to figure something out. So, unless you have any bright ideas, I’d really appreciate it if you just calmed the fuck down!”

Ernie was red in the face but Ron thought, on the whole, at least he was quieter. The Auror looked at his watch again. Dammit. He had to come up with a Plan B and he wasn't much of a planner.

And during desperate times like this, when he needed to employ critical thinking, he always asked himself.

"What would Hermione do?"

"What?" Ernie replied, confused.

Ron didn't intend to but had said the question out loud. He paced and continued.

"Hermione relied on both common and uncommon knowledge. It is common knowledge that we would not be able to break out of jail on our own."

"Can't argue with that."

"We will need help. And since there are no obvious allies do we have non-obvious ones? What would Hermione think?"

Their eyes widened at the same time.

"Beings!" Ernie exclaimed.

"Elves and to be more precise, Ministry employed elves!" Ron answered excitedly, "And I can think of one specific elf who would be perfect for this job. I don't have clearance to use him but you, being the Deputy head of the MLE, do."

Ernie shared his wide grin and complimented, "You're brilliant, mate!"

Ron shrugged, "Oh, well, I have my moments."

Ernie summoned the elf and in an instant the diminutive being appeared inside the cell.

"Free Willy, Emergency Elevator Operator reporting on duty. Where you go oh most honorable deputy head MacMillan.?"

"Can he take us to the Pitch?" Ron asked Ernie.

"No. Destination has to be within Ministry premises," Ernie clarified, "I'm thinking the Atrium but there will be plenty of guards."

"We can fight our way out."

"We need our wands."

"Free Willy get them for you," the elf offered, Disapparating and Apparating back into their cell quickly, leaving their mouths hanging open as he handed them their weapons.

"Gee, thanks," Ron said.

"You're most welcome," Free Willy replied, "it has been one minute and fifteen seconds since I was summoned. Not good to be not efficient. I see lack of direction?"

Ron took the opportunity that was at hand, "Free Willy, we'd like to leave the building with the least amount of contact with Ministry employees. What's the best way?"

"Ah! Thank you for asking for Free Willy's expertise. Hop on. That is through unused dungeon ways. No one work there. Funny. Unspeakable Max asked me to do same thing earlier and he is not only one today. Must be day for secret coming and goings."

XXXXXXXXXX

Gilbert Street, London

Ted Lupin had just followed Gummy's magical signature through five towns. After Harry let Warren into Grimmauld, Gummy attacked the Canadian Auror. The chaos that ensued had Harry protecting Gummy from Gates' counter-offensive and him protecting Harry and himself from Gummy's indiscriminate retaliation. At a break in the wand fire, Gummy slipped away. Harry ordered him to pursue.

Gummy was trying to shake him and Ted made the former MLE believe that he succeeded in Hogsmeade. But using his wolf-like senses, Ted honed in on Gummy's scent. At this latest stop his smell was getting stronger which meant Gummy was lingering and had likely reached his intended destination.

It was just after dawn and the narrow backstreet five blocks south of the London Ministry was beginning to fill with street peddlers and early morning bargain hunters. Ted, disguised as a buyer, followed Gummy's scent through the Muggle. Then he lost it.

He doubled back and picked it up again at the entrance to a dead end alley. It was dark inside but he could sense a concentration of magical presence just past the shadows. He lifted his nose in that direction, sniffed, and got the confirmation he needed. Gummy was in there.

With extreme care he worked his way closer to the edge, picking up Gummy's magical signature as he did. Then he began picking up a few other scents, one of them was familiar.

He went out back to the street and rang Harry.

"I've tracked Gummy down. He's in an alley just off Gilbert Street. There are others with him. Is Hermione still with you?"

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I was reading my notes to the very first chapter which I wrote almost two years ago … I’m now at chapter 57 lol! 69 isn’t so unreachable!

But really, it’s not entirely my fault if this goes longer – you all have injected many wonderful ideas into this story – many thanks. Love the reviews as always. Working feverishly on the next one.

57. Dungeon Reunions

A/N. Greetings loyal readers.

Four weeks is a long time so without further adieu…

xxxxxxxxxxx

Chapter 57 – Dungeon Reunions

Harry hung up the phone, second guessing the instructions he left Ted with. His gut told him that Ted was going to be just fine but he would never forgive himself if something bad happened to his godson. He made his way to the house, thinking of all the people in it right now who he could never face again if that occurred. He was at Shell Cottage.

Bil and Fleur Weasley, their gracious hosts, had added three additional levels to their home to accomodate their temporary guests. They had been aware that trouble was on its way when their daughter, Tory, came home unexpectedly. After Anne arrived with the twins with news that the Pitch had been attacked, Bill immediately made arrangements for his other London based siblings to come. George and Percy were here with their families and Charlie was on his way from Romania to offer support.

He took his wand out and fortified the perimeter defences. Bill was a high ranking Gringott’s official now, and as such the wards around his home reflected the importance of his position. Harry did not have to add much more and although he remembered Hermione’s mention of the possibility of moving the family again, he doubted he could convince the Weasleys to do that unless Shell Cottage drew fire.

Through the window out back he could see Ginny in the Weasley dining room, in a serious discussion with her brothers and sisters-in-law. As Hermione anticipated, Ginny would not stay at the Magical Village. She arrived at Pag-asa with James, Lily and the IMP escort shortly after he and Warren did. No words could adequately describe how angry Ginny was about the whole thing. Harry had not seen her that upset since, well, a very long time ago, and much of her anger was directed at Warren.

To her credit she had waited until they were in a less public space before letting Warren have it. Warren accepted her verbal abuse stoically which pissed Ginny even more. It took Al's insistence that he was all right and that he was glad to have seen the village to get his mother to calm down.

Their departure from Pag-asa an hour later was complicated. They expected Rosie to come with them but Hermione’s daughter refused to leave, saying that she had to see her mother. Both he and Ginny thought that was reasonable (and Warren promised to take care of her), but they were surprised at Al's insistence to stay at Pag-asa too.

Harry tried to talk Al out of it while his Mum told him straight that she'd rather he be somewhere safe. Al was the easy kid, the straight one, and, in the past, the one who. always did as they asked. But in the end Al's argument about helping the Beings and keeping his cousin company won out. Al was with Rosie at Pag-asa and would leave when she did.

Harry wasn't comfortable with that for although Hermione trusted Warren with Rosie Harry didn't trust him with Al. This only strengthened his resolve to get to Malvado as soon as he possibly could. When they met that one time at the fair Harry got the impression that Malvado was not keen on duelling him. He doubted very much that Malvado would accept an invite to meet. This being the case he could either wait until the asshole attacked Hugo or Hermione again, or, seek him out. He preferred the latter; to go on the offensive and to dictate his own terms. He also liked the idea that he'd have to go through Warren to find the Dark Wizard. It would give him the opportunity to sort Warren out.

Admittedly Harry wasn't prepared to confront Malvado but Hermione had given him enough information so he wouldn't make catastrophic mistakes. Throughout his years as an Auror he never needed an exhaustive report of his opponents and never overanalyzed who he was up against. To be honest, much of wand fighting was instinctive for him. Each opponent was always unique and he had been for the most part been fortunate to do the right thing at the right time, sometimes after much trial and error. Harry definitely wasn't the most scientific dueller but as challenging a foe Malvado was he wasn't worried about fighting him.

He closed his eyes and willed himself to calm down, to not rush even though the upside of ending the Malvado threat sooner was overwhelming. To him this was more than just a case. His family's future was on hold somewhat until this was settled.

The back door swung open. Harry glanced over and saw James at the entrance. His sixteen year old had been unusually quiet since Pag-asa and had a gloominess about him that Harry had never seen him with before. With his Weasley red hair, sense of humour and happy-go-lucky demeanour, James never let anything bother him until now.

"Dad, can I talk to you for a sec?"James opened without hesitation.

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

On James' lead they walked towards the beach. His son began speaking as soon as they were a distance from the house

"I'm really sorry about what happened at the Pitch."

The apology dripped with remorse. Harry had no idea where it was coming from.

"That wasn’t your fault."

"It was. I couldn't protect Mum and I couldn't protect Lily," James explained, his brows in a deep frown, "I'm sorry for disappointing you."

"You didn't disappoint me," Harry tried to reassure him, trying to think what could have given James the idea that he was disappointed.

James continued beating himself up, "I wasn't fast enough. I wasn't good enough."

"They were trained IMP and you're only sixteen..."

"But you were much younger when you rescued Mum," James reasoned, "At my age you escaped from Voldemort many times and I - I couldn't even fight off a bunch of well meaning elves."

He sighed, feeling bad for his son. James had, before today, handled the pressures of being his firstborn very well, carving out his own identity even though many expected him to be just like his father, which he really wasn't. Harry stopped walking and gently took James by the shoulders, looking him in the eye as he held him steady.

"James, escaping from Voldemort and rescuing your Mum then had absolutely nothing to do with being fast or good. You have more skills now compared to me when I was your age. I was just lucky and I had a lot of help. So I am not disappointed in you. In fact I'm proud that you were brave enough to try. You did your best, right?" Harry waited for James to answer and when his son nodded continued, "Then you shouldn't feel bad. Your Mum and Lily are safe now. That's all that counts."

James nodded again but Harry could tell he wasn't completely okay.

Harry added, "There's absolutely nothing that you did that I would have done differently at your age."

"Honestly?"James asked, unsure if his father was just saying that to make him feel better.

"Honestly," Harry replied, "So you shouldn't be too hard on yourself. Okay?"

He gave James' shoulders a firm squeeze, emphasizing what he just said. James took a big breath in and let it out, picking up his shoulders in the process.

"Okay," James answered with some restored confidence.

Harry let go and motioned, "We should head back."

"Dad," James had something else on his mind. Harry listened attentively while James struggled to get his point across, "I'll still do better. I mean, not only to protect them but you know, with things the way they are now I'd like to do better. I haven't exactly been the best big brother out there. I promise to be around more for Al and Lily. And for Mum too."

Harry nodded, acknowledging how hard it was for James to get that out. What he just heard filled his heart with pride. Well, to be honest, both pride and guilt; pride because James was finally realizing that he had to be more responsible and guilt because it was to partly fill Harry's shoes. It felt unfair to let his son do his job in his absence, even if James was okay with it. Or maybe that was how things were supposed happen between fathers and sons. This was all new to Harry so he didn't really know but he was certain about one thing.

"Your Mum will be happy to hear that."

"Dad -" James looked embarrassed and Harry read his mind.

"Okay, I won't make a big deal out of it."

Someone was approaching. It was Ginny. They walked towards her and met her halfway.

"James, your Aunt Fleur wants you settled in your bedroom," she told their eldest.

"Sure thing," the young man looked over to remind his father of his request, then marched on, his step more upbeat than earlier.

They watched James walk back into the house and as soon as he did, Ginny asked him, "Is he okay?"

"He felt guilty about not making a difference at the Pitch," he told her and headed off her worry, "I think I set him straight."

But that was probably the last straw for her. Ginny looked away and from where he stood he could see her biting her lip, fighting off tears. She had already been upset and worried about Al and Lily - and now James. Their children were her life.

He put his arm over her shoulders and pulled her in.

“This is exhausting,” Ginny caved in and admitted.

"I'm sorry," he apologized, rubbing her arm in an effort to comfort her.

She shook her head, quickly brushing off the tears that came, "I’m not blaming you."

"That our sons want to be stupidly heroic like me and that our daughter hates me because I failed her?" he thought he'd put things in proper perspective.

His brutal honesty made her laugh and she conceded, "Fine, it is your fault for setting such lofty ideals."

Harry smiled back. It had been a while since he heard her laugh like this he had almost forgotten what that sounded like.

Ginny moved away, feeling much better, patting him on the chest as she did, "Don't feel so bad. It was expected of the boys to try and live up to their father being a hero."

"And Lily?"

He was very heartbroken about what his daughter was going through. She still wasn't speaking to him at all.

"Time heals all wounds," Ginny quoted knowingly, drawing from personal experience, "It took me a while to accept that even heroes make mistakes."

Harry nodded. If only he could be as certain about that as Ginny was. She was more concerned about Lily's brother.

"Will you be seeing Al soon?" Ginny inquired.

"After I get Ron out."

"Who's going with you?"

"George and Ted," Harry lied, not wanting her to worry that he was going alone.

"Be careful, okay?" Ginny said with genuine thoughtfulness.

He found it odd hearing her say those words again. For a time, and Harry couldn't think when it actually started, they were assumed and not exchanged between them. That went both ways. And it sounded more meaningful now than how he remembered, maybe because it had been so long since the last time she actually said it. Or maybe it was because of how things currently stood between them. Wouldn't that be ironic?

"I always am," Harry replied somewhat belatedly, then promised, "This will be over soon."

"I hope so," she countered. He noticed her slight hesitation before deciding to ask, "How is Hermione?"

Her mention of Hermione's name was so unexpected that his mind blanked out for a split second.

"Um, she's fine," was his answer when the question finally registered, "A bit weak from what she went through but she's fine. At least I think she is."

He stopped himself from further rambling, thinking that Ginny probably got more than what she really wanted to hear.

"Good," he heard her say.

They walked side by side back. As they neared the house she mentioned how the family had many questions.

"Fleur's prying. Her Vela senses are picking up that something's wrong and it's annoying as hell."

"You want to tell them what's going on," Harry read between the lines.

Ginny confirmed, "They'll find out sooner or later and I'd rather they hear it from me. I'd like to do it when Charlie gets here. I don't want to have to do it twice."

“And you don’t want me there?”

“Harry, they’re my brothers. They will judge you harshly no matter how we tell them. I think it's best to give them space to calm down about this.”

Even though Ginny had a good point, Harry wanted to tell them himself and to receive the backlash that he deserved firsthand. He owed it to them, to Ginny and to his children. It was something that Harry needed to do but he couldn't do it now. He had other fish to fry. Ginny, on the other hand, was anxious. Harry understood her need for them to know the truth and her need for their support. He had to let her do what was best for her. He would have to speak with them at a later time.

After saying goodbye to James and a non-responsive Lily, Harry told Bill where he was off to, fully expecting never again to get the same warm welcome Ginny's family always had for him. And he deserved everything that was to come.

He Disapparated for London.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ted hung up the phone armed with orders from Harry to strictly surveil and desist from engagement. As puzzling as that was to him Ted deduced that Harry had good reason for the non-confrontational approach. When they spoke there really was no time for explanations.

It was going to be tricky. Following an ex-Auror, an ex-MLE and Merlin knew who else into a dead end alley without being noticed was almost mission impossible but he would definitely give it a try. And if he got caught Hermione was there after all. What was the worse that could happen?

He morphed into a lizard once he reached the shadows, figuring a wall crawler would get him as close to them as possible without being detected. Instantly, his view of the surroundings changed. He didn't like this fishbowl perspective but that went with the costume. And while as a metamorph changing his human appearance was no big deal, transforming into a non-human was something he was new at. It took a lot out of him and he would require a period of readjustment after.

This was worth it though. Ted was excited. He suspected that he was about to find out more about the POTH.

With the short legs Ted had to hurry. He was hearing voices now. There were figures in cloaks up ahead, standing at the southeast corner of the alley.

One, two three, four...

Ted recognized Hermione and Gummy. He crept closer, straining his eyes to adjust. The other tall, wiry man, was maybe in his fifties and was definitely non-magical. The fourth figure was a Being he had met before. It was the business she-elf, Winky.

The Being waved her hand over the solid brick wall and a wooden door materialized out of thin air. Winky slipped past the entrance and disappeared into the darkness beyond. The non-Magical followed, then Hermione.

Ted went in the same time Gummy did and was just above the lintel of the previously hidden door when the ex-MLE stopped suddenly and looked up. On pure instinct, Ted managed to conceal himself within a nearby crack, holding his breath, wondering if Gummy saw him, and preparing himself if that was the case.

"What's the matter?" Hermione doubled back and asked Gummy.

The Ex-MLE answered, lighting his wand, "I sense the Metamorph's presence."

Both paused and looked around, Gummy's magical scans washing over him, but the ex-MLE did not react adversely.

"Sorry, false alarm," Gummy apologized.

Gummy put his wand out of sight. Ted had not a moment to feel relieved. Hermione turned, walked down the narrow hallway and took the first right. The entrance disappeared as quickly as it appeared and Gummy was on the move.

Afraid he would lose them, Ted made a split decision and jumped for Gummy's cloak, catching its coat tails as Gummy turned the corner. With all fours he tugged as much fabric as he could around him and clung on for dear life. A metal gate cut across his view, then a jolt.

They were in a lift and were going down fast. In less than five seconds they reached the very bottom. They all got off.

He peeked through. They were in another narrow passageway, this one much longer and seemingly more tortuous than the one above. Rooms with old wooden doors of similar vintage to the disappearing entrance lined the path on both sides, some open some shut, but it was too dark to see within them to give him an idea of what the place was. Wherever they were it was cool, damp and likely uninhabited for decades.

Winky led the way. She seemed to be the only one who knew where they were going. The deeper they got the more worried Ted was that he would never find his way back. Logic told him that if they couldn't Apparate coming here Disapparition from within it was unlikely. Where the fuck were they?

Luck was on his side; Gummy asked his very question.

Winky cured their craving for information, "The Ministry Dungeons. For centuries witness to unspeakable torture and punishment."

"How do you know them so well?" the non-magical asked.

"Winky find out years ago. Winky's elves use passageways to and from Ministry parts. Current Management don't like help using front door."

Ted breathed a sigh of relief. At least they were in the Ministry. Even if he lost his ride he was certain he could make his way up to the surface. This, however, drew a disapproving cry from Hermione.

"Winky made a business decision. She's not sorry she didn't tell you," Winky minced no words, quite pleased at the fact that she was able to hide the truth from Hermione, “Not sorry one bit.”

"Not yet but I can quickly change that," Hermione wasn't going to let that one go easily, "How can you let Magical snobs treat your elves like that?"

"It is none of Hermione's business. And not important and no time," Winky announced, "We're here."

Ted peered up ahead to see where 'here' was. There were heading for a doorway. There were humans in the room.

"Watch out," Gummy warned as they approached, his wand back in his hand.

"It's just me."

A man appeared from beyond the entrance, his hulking frame blocking the light from within it. Ted tried to make out the face but he couldn’t.

"Just like I said," Gummy retorted, "Watch out."

"Your paranoia is irritating," the man with a thick accent countered. "Happy to see you alive, Hermione. Why you took so long?"

"It doesn't matter. We're here," Hermione replied, "Are you okay?"

"Your IMP acquaintance released us unharmed, generous considering we attacked them first. The new guy is inside, still shaken up."

The man turned slightly to see who else was with Hermione, revealing an older man with harsh features. Ted recognized Boris Dovalov. The Russian stood there, his eyes narrowing as he gave Hermione a questioning look.

Hermione shook him off, the exchange unnoticed by the others. She seemed very eager to see 'the new guy' and went inside the room right away. Gummy was the last to enter. As soon as he did, Ted came out from his precarious hiding place and snuck under the wooden round table, climbing up one of its legs.

After trying out a few nooks, Ted settled for an upside down view of the proceedings through the half inch slats than ran intermittently across the table. The members of what he assumed was the POTH were bunched up around one side, exchanging greetings until someone called the meeting to order.

"We are in enemy territory. Danger sense tingling. We start, no?" Dovalov prompted the group.

That quickly killed the congenial atmosphere. Hermione urged the others to find a seat. With everyone settled Ted counted six; the four who he came with, Dovalov and ‘new guy’. ‘New guy’ was Seamus Finnigan.

That Seamus was part of this felt like being doused with cold water. Ted had known Seamus all his life and couldn’t imagine him being involved in something like this. When he heard that it was Seamus who took Professor Flitwick's Snitch from Neville, he doubted it, and when Neville and Ernie said Seamus ran away at confrontation, Ted even wondered if somebody was impersonating the bar owner. Ted remembered that Seamus had been 'away on business' that morning Harry called the meeting; POTH related business maybe.

And Harry told him there were supposed to be seven of them. Where was the other one?

The eerie stillness broke when Hermione spoke.

"Boris, thank you for holding the fort in my absence and thank you all for coming under less than ideal circumstances. Winky, Brian and Seamus, welcome. It has been years but I hope it didn't come too much of a shock when the charm lifted and you regained the memory of your POTH vows. For those of us who've been around since the POTH's inception it is never a good time when we do this, especially never under these conditions. Phil, Grawp, Burkes and Jurnuk were great Beings who stood by the promise we all took when we joined the POTH. They will be missed. As unnecessary as their murders were we will make sure they didn't die in vain. We will remember our fallen through you, the pillars they have chosen to replace them. May they find peace in the after-life."

"Here, here," Dovalov concurred, "It was an honour to serve with Grawp, Phil and Burkes, and Jurnuk was, from what I know, an honorable Being."

"Indeed, Jurnuk was," Winky echoed.

"Hermione -" Boris spoke in a much graver tone, "We talk. Before, you ask us to not get involved. But it is obvious. Malvado take war to POTH. He kill each of us one after the other. We must fight back."

"We will fight back," she assured them.

"Excellent! We talk to Keeper, to release us from Fidelus. We use the Hallows - "

Hermione interrupted Dovalov, "No Boris. Our duty to ensure that the Hallows remain inactive stays."

Seamus asked a perfectly legitimate question, "Why can't we borrow them?"

"Because it will make us no better than all those we have been fighting off for years. Because it is exactly what Malvado wants us to do. The Hallows are safe where they are."

Dovalov contested her claim, setting on the table the faint yellow circular object, "Malvado almost got this."

"Even if he did he can't open it."

"It's only an old Snitch, is it not?" Seamus commented, "Surely a wizard of Malvado's calibre would have made short work of it."

Hermione replied, "The powers of the stone within make it as indestructible as the object it keeps."

Dovalov argued, "But he could figure out who will release stone, no? He may not know stone is in it but he suspects.”

“Gates is searching for the Hallows, too," Gummy scoffed, "He looked through Potter's cloak collection. And now he knows that Malvado doesn't have the real stone and wand. We are not comfortable that you work so closely with him. If it were not for Auror Potter, his ass would have been mine."

"We have the same enemy, the same goal."

"But means are too different," Dovalov added, "And end -"

"The end is not written in stone," Hermione interrupted him, "I understand why you feel this way. I am not asking you to trust him. I am asking you to trust me when I say that we need him to survive this as much as he needs us to send Malvado away. We will find a common means. He too knows that the only way we can overcome this adversity is if we work with him."

"We know he won't destroy or get rid of the Hallows. He wants to expose them to use them. We can do that," Gummy suggested again.

"Actually, we can't," Seamus reminded him, "The Keeper can release us only if all of us agree."

Dovalov stared at Hermione and concluded, "Then we all die."

"None of us have to," Hermione turned to the five others around the table. "The membership of this organization is and always will be voluntary. Be reminded that at initiation, all of you were given a choice for an out. That choice is still and always will be there for you to take. By now Malvado knows to trace us through the magical connections we've created between each other. He tracked Phil through Burkes, Grawp through Phil and Jurnuk through Grawp. He will not stop until all of us including our pillars are completely eliminated, to ensure the Hallows remain where he wants them to be to perpetuate his invincibility.

"This said it is clear that the conditions of the contract that bind us have changed. Your life in exchange for the security of the Hallows was never part of the agreement, particularly if you no longer believe in the necessity of protecting them. Nobody here will take it against you if you decide to leave."

There was an intense silence at the table as Hermione looked each of those present in the eye and settled on the first one she decided to ask.

"Gummy?"

"I'm in. Always in. I don't have anything to lose and so much to gain."

"Winky?"

"Question is mere formality for Winky. Winky will not refuse opportunity to make difference in this world."

"Brian?"

The familiarity of her address clued Ted in that the non-magical was the Squib Brian Figg, Hermione's former boss at the OFE.

"The POTH is in a bind. I'm not about to bail on it, haven't bailed on anything in my life. Just tell me what to do because I am still unsure how I can help here."

Hermione nodded in acknowledgment before turning to Seamus.

When Seamus didn't answer right away she said to him, "You don't owe me anything."

"I'm in, not because I owe you but because I owe myself,” Seamus responded, “Yes, I fucking realize I am in way over my head and I wasn’t sure before but I am now. I choose not to be a coward. It’s not every day when we get a chance to stand up for what’s right and be heroes.”

“Thank you, Seamus.”

Seamus added, “And I still owe you. No wait, the fact that my wife got dragged into this means I'll never hear the end of it for the rest of my life. So that makes us even."

That lightened up the room. Hermione and the others chuckled, except for Gummy, who didn't have a sense of humour, and Boris, who looked quite unhappy. She asked the latter last.

"Boris?"

The older man had been watching her keenly while she asked the others and had very choice words for her.

"You are witch," his tone more complimentary than insulting, "You think my conscience will leave you alone in dire times knowing all these fools are about to get themselves killed?"

"I didn't think you would," Hermione smirked, getting her way. "It's settled then. We're fighting back."

"How?" Boris asked.

"Crash an important meeting. Expose his agenda. Get his undivided attention."

"Piss him off even more! Oooh!" Gummy rubbed his palms together, "Are you thinking about that meeting? The one that's just about to start?"

"The very one," Hermione confirmed.

"I don't like sound of this," Dovalov was shaking his head.

"Winky doesn't like the sound of it either. But Winky never did anything this dangerous in her life."

"What are we doing? What meeting?" Seamus enquired.

"Whatever it is, it sounds important," the non-magical answered him, not knowing which meeting they were talking about either.

"Come on! It'll be fun!" Gummy egged them on, "A little energy here folks, shot of adrenaline!"

“It will be like dangling steak in front of lion,” Boris disapproved, “You want to die again?”

“It is not without risk, I agree,” Hermione countered.

Gummy went off on a tangent, "Tell me we're fucking with Humptail too."

"At the very least," Hermione confirmed, matching the mischief in Gummy’s eyes. "Getting on the podium won't be a problem. Gummy and I can do this on our own but we will need your help to get the message across and to successfully exit."

“To snatch steak away before lion pounces on it,” Gummy explained to Dovalov slowly.

Dovalov gave Gummy the evil eye before asking Hermione more questions, “Why give lion steak if you want to kill it? What is point?”

"You said you wanted to fight back," Hermione wasn't really answering Boris' question, "It's one way of fighting back."

"Works for me," Gummy contributed.

"I don’t get it. We cannot talk about Hallows. We cannot talk about real agenda.”

“Right. Don’t worry, I got that covered,” Hermione reassured him.

Dovalov sighed, resigned to the fact that it was happening.

"You play me. I am like old violin to you, no?"

Hermione was getting her way and was all smiles, "Boris, yes, but you are a Stradivarius."

"Just tell me plan before I regain sanity."

Ted inched closer to Hermione’s side of the table, all ears, when there was a sudden disturbance at the door. Gummy, Hermione and Dovalov all drew their weapons in no time and aimed it directly at the tall, red head who just walked into the room with hands frantically waving up in the air.

"Don't shoot! I come in peace!"

"Ron?!” Hermione screamed her recognition of the newcomer, “You idiot!”

Ron put his hands down as the wands were lowered.

"Oy! Ernie!" called out behind him, "You can come out now! She insulted me instead of cursing me! I told you it was the real 'Hermione'. It's good to see you alive by the way.”

“How did you get here?! You’re supposed to be –“

“In a jail cell, rotting away, right!” Ron finished for her, “And you are having a meeting instead of rescuing me!”

“You were next on my list!”

“Well excuse me for not waiting! You really need to straighten out your priorities!” Ron was finger wagging and right in her face, both of them flushed, him with anger and her from embarrassment, “We really need to talk. Whoa! Freakish. I think that's the first time in the thirty years I've ever said those words to you."

“We could have killed you!" Hermione lectured him, "You're an Auror, for Merlin's sake! You don't just walk into a sensitive meeting the way you did!"

"How was I supposed to know it was 'sensitive'?" Ron quoted 'sensitive' in the air. “I didn’t see a sign. Is there a sign?”

That only drew an exasperated breath from Hermione. The rest of the POTH became uncomfortable as Ernie Macmillan joined them. In all the excitement Ted inadvertently morphed back into human form. He landed on the stone floor on all fours and stood up instinctively, startling everyone in the room as he lifted the heavy, solid table on his back, heaving it off onto its side the second he was totally upright.

Ted, barely able to keep his balance and focus, said to Hermione, "Ron's right. There was no such sign."

XXXXXXXX

Harry just arrived and was standing outside the Ministry of Magic contemplating his next move. Then it came to him.

He walked into the phone booth and dialled the number.

62442

"State your name and your business," the familiar voice of the operator rang in the small unit.

Harry responded, "Harry Potter, recently fired Head Auror, to help Auror Ron Weasley escape, among other things."

A badge was spit out from the phone. The words on it put a smile on Harry's face.

Harry Potter, rescue mission and more

The operator continued, "Thank you and have a nice day!"

"I'll certainly try," he replied with the same amount of cheer.

As the booth sank into the ground and descended upon the busy Atrium, Harry wasn't concerned the least bit. It all felt right.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. I lingered so much on the Harry-Ginny conversation…portkey compliance in mind :)

Finally deciding on who the POTH members were was really hard too.

Next one should be fun.

58. Wand vs Stone

A/N. Happy Father's Day to all Dads out there.

And welcome to those who are joining the story just now - you, and those who continue to read, are brave souls!

I hate it that I have to set everything up and it's taking so long to get to the end. Warren decided to grace us with an appearance and the 7th POTH member dropped in sooner than I thought he would (these characters are out of control!).

Hope you go easy on Ron in this one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 58 – Wand vs Stone

Hugo woke up, alone in unfamiliar surroundings. He got up, walked across and gazed out the wide open window. It was just after noon and he was in the Being Village of Pag-asa. His Mum dropped him off with Warren a couple of hours ago and told him to get some rest.

Even though he didn't want to, he fell asleep as he listened to her and Rosie talk. It was weird; it felt like sleep that couldn't be put off. Since passing out at Grimmauld he had been feeling off and the conversation with his Mum about his father and sister was quite draining too. With the nap he was now re-energized and ready to tackle what was next. For him, even though his Mum would disagree, that was to be more prepared for Malvado.

He looked down the hill past the trees and trained his sight upon the clearing where dozens of Beings were gathered around earlier. The sun was hot and harsh. Understandable many beings were indoors and under shade, except for the few young Beings who were practicing magic with Rose and Al. This was the first time he had come here, the first he had heard of the place. He still was in awe of how an entire village could be hidden for so long and how these ordinary Beings were coming together to help fight Malvado.

When they first arrived, the Beings greeted his Mum with utmost respect and him with quiet scrutiny. While his mother had been known to them as the 'crazy' white witch who wanted to build an integrated school for wizards, witches and Beings in nearby Hiwaga, it was the first time they had seen her knowing she was actually Jean Peverell. Jean Peverell was a legend here; the Mistress of Death, the same one who kept much of this part of the world in relative peace years ago.

The Beings all looked at him funny, some with hopeful excitement, some with curious fascination just as his Mum warned him they would. Before arriving she talked to him briefly about what the Hag predicted, telling him what it all meant. They knew of the prophecy and hung on every word of it.

It was understandable. The village ihad been without hope for so long the prospect of the prophecy finally coming to fruition was cause for excitement. In spite of his Mum's caution Hugo felt the enormous pressure that went with it and the only thing that kept him from freaking out was the knowledge that he wasn't the only teenager to have ever experienced the weight of everyone's hope upon him. He reasoned that if his father survived the expectation of being the Chosen One years ago, he could deal with it no problem.

And besides, facing the expectation was not his biggest problem; facing Malvado again was. While he had lost his keenness to meet Malvado again he was almost certain that he would, even though his Mum said she would make sure he wouldn't.

There was a knock on the door. It opened before he answered and Warren joined him by the window.

Hugo didn't speak. He had been annoyed at the older man since finding out his Mum was alive and it only got worse when Warren kept on lying to his father. In the past, he would have blindly trusted the Canadian with anything, but with his Mum hurt and Warren's continued questionable actions, Hugo could only think the ex-Auror was up to no good.

But then again his Mum did entrust Warren with his and Rose's care, at least until her return from what she had to do (and Hugo gathered she wasn't back yet). She would never have done that unless she wasn't certain they would be safe with him. That restored his faith in the Canadian somewhat although it didn't make him less angry.

"You're still pissed at me," Warren broke the silence, reading his mind. Hugo didn't respond so Warren continued, "If you care to know I am sorry I didn't tell you about your Mum. With things being crazy here I couldn't look after you. I wasn't even sure I could keep your Mum alve. It would have been for the best had you stayed in London with your father."

He sounded sincere enough.

"If you told me she was alive then I might have."

"Don't bother lying. This is me you're talking to, remember?"

Warren knew him well enough that Hugo couldn't lie to him successfully, probably ever.

"And about the prophecy?" Hugo brought up the other important detail Warren kept from him.

"I promised your Mum I wouldn't tell you about it but I'm glad you found out. That was a hard one to keep."

Hugo sensed an inviting tone in his voice, one that seemed to encourage him to ask more questions. He went for it.

"You believe it?"

"Your Mum disagrees but the Hag was a pretty good Seer,” Warren sounded convinced, which worried Hugo very much.

“What should I do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I met Malvado. He's invincible. How does one defeat him?”

“If I had the answer to that we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now,” was his reply, “But if I were you I wouldn't think about it too much. It is only a prophecy. What will happen will happen because it was going to, not because some Seer said it would. You just deal with it the best you can."

Hugo didn't think he heard right. Deal with it 'the best he can'? Was he serious?

Warren saw his reaction and explained further, "What’s the worst case scenario?"

That was obvious.

“He kills me. He kills everyone I care about.”

“Right,” Warren confirmed, “On the flip side, Malvado may try again and fail again and again and again. Then you die an old man. We will all die eventually, even the ones we care about, even Malvado, be it by illness, by accident or by some gruesome death. While I understand why many are hung up about growing old and dying painfree, thinking about how not to die some other way is a waste of time. We die however and whenever it's time to go.”

On some level Hugo got what he meant. But then again, he wasn’t going to merely sit back and wait, knowing he was unprepared for what was likely to come. He learned that much from his father's experience with Voldemort.

“You disagree,” Warren saw his thoughts and sighed audibly, “You are your mother’s son. Your desire to shape what is into your preferred end is great. Just be aware that one can get screwed royally for messing with fate.”

"So your advice is to what? Just let things happen? Not do anything? Just let him kill me?" Hugo couldn't think Warren really walked the talk and he remembered something, "Why didn't you just let Mum die?"

He chuckled lightly, amused at Hugo's observation.

"Your Mum always manages to bring out the hypocrit in me," was Warren's excuse, then muttered under his breath, "And I already know I'll get screwed for that one."

"Why are you even working to get rid of Malvado?"

"Because it's my job. It's my job to rid the world of bad guys. It's also your Mum's job and your father's," Warren answered, "It's not yours."

“But the prophecy said I'm the only one who can stop him."

He shrugged and replied, "Still doesn't make it your job to do it."

Hugo desperately wanted him to understand, so he would help, "He's coming after me. I just want a fighting chance."

"You have that," Warren reminded him, "You have more defensive magical skills than an average Auror rookie. Did you think that the things I taught in the past months were for extra credit at school?"

Hugo blushed, embarrassed that he didn't figure that part out. But...

"You never taught me offensive magic."

"Face it, kid," Warren looked him in the eye, "You don't have what it takes to kill anyone. I even doubt that you can work yourself up to really mean to hurt another Being. Your Mum didn't raise you that way and your father never had that primal instinct in him either. I thought to concentrate teaching you skills you would use. And besides, your Mum wouldn't have approved."

The truth in what Warren just said about him was depressing. He did, when he thought she was dead, believe he could kill Malvado. But given the opportunity, and it was a very good one, he failed.

Warren was sympathetic, "I know you're disappointed that you're not some lean, mean, killing machine but it's better that you have no such delusions that you are. And besides, with Malvado, offensive spells won't work, not unless he plays fair and becomes mortal."

"Mum was vague and so was the Hag. What exactly did the prophecy say, I mean, aside from what they told me?"

"It said the one who calls himself the Son of Death will rule without challenge until the coming of age of the Son of Death's Mistress. They will fight a battle unfought before, altering life and death as it is known," Warren finished, "I believe I quoted that verbatim."

Hearing the prophecy in its entirety made Hugo feel worse.

"That's it, huh? Just alter life and death?" the panic in his voice accurately reflecting how he felt inside, "And you're telling me not to worry?!"

Warren watched him lose his composure as if he expected he would, "Calm down. You're only a thirteen year old boy who doesn't know much."

Hugo began pacing, "If that's supposed to make me feel better it's not working!"

"Nobody's going to blame you if something bad happens. Your parents maybe, but not you," Warren pointed out, entertained by the thought.

"I think I'm going to throw up," Hugo walked back to the window and leaned further out, taking a big breath in, not feeling so good.

Warren patted him on the back.

"You're overthinking this just like your Mum is. What you need is something to get your mind off things. Hell, I need a break. I think we all do."

What Hugo needed was someone to discuss this properly with. But as unhelpful Warren's advice was Hugo had one burning question for him.

"What about the Hallows? What if I have all three Hallows? Do I have a better chance then?"

That made Warren take pause, serious now and thoughtful about what to tell him. Hugo tried to read him as Warren taught him, keeping in mind that Warren was searching for the Hallows too. He would find out straightaway if Warren wasn't telling the truth.

The older man replied with a poker face, "A better chance to survive, yes. Possession of all three will make you Master of Death and will give you immortality up until you give them up or they are taken from you. He can't kill you, you can't kill him, in theory anyway. Do you think you can hold on to them all until something shifts in your favour?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Could he? If he had them all he would try his best but to be realistic about it, against a wizard of Malvado's calibre, it would take a miracle for him to be able to. He couldn't find his voice to tell Warren that but the Canadian understood.

"As I said, don't worry. If that time ever comes you will do your best," Warren sounded more certain.

Hugo nodded.

"Is that why you want the Hallows? So you can fight Malvado and have a better chance to survive?"

Warren answered, "Unfortunately your Mum and the POTH have done such a great job hiding them."

"She doesn't think using the Hallows will help?"

"She said it wasn't about the Hallows during Voldemort's time and it isn't about the Hallows now."

Hugo frowned, trying to remember the stories she shared with him. She was talking about that time when his father was at a crossroad in their pursuit of how to defeat Voldemort - Horcrux versus Hallows. In the end, Voldemort got to the Elder wand first and they did have to destroy all the Horcruxes, including the one embedded in his father's scar, before they got to the Dark Wizard.

But wasn't it one of the Hallows that ultimately saved his father from Voldemort? And wasn't it the same Hallow that ultimately saved his Mum from Morpheus Gaunt? What if he got Malvado to curse him with the Elder wand? Would the Death Stick save him too and redirect the curse to the one holding it? Could it be that obvious?

The answer he came up with wasn't very encouraging. Fact - Malvado could not be killed. The AK that backfired on the Dark Wizard courtesy of his father did nothing. And Malvado didn't have any Horcruxes to hunt down either. What he had was an invincibility stone which had to be willingly given up, something Malvado would never do.

How does one get someone to willingly give up something he doesn't want to give up? Hugo thought, maybe he could use the Hallows to make Malvado do it. It was unlikely that somebody had tried using the most powerful wand tried before.

Hallows vs Invincibility Stone...Wand vs Stone…

Then a though crossed his mind. Malvado was also interested in the Hallows, the wand in particular. Maybe Malvado knew something that they didn't; maybe he knew someone using the wand could persuade him to willingly give up the stone. His head was beginning to hurt when Warren interrupted.

"Just promise me one thing," the older man said, "If Malvado holds everyone you care about hostage and threatens to kill them, don't do what your father did."

What his father did when Voldemort did that was the defining moment of the Battle of Hogwarts. It never crossed Hugo's mind that he would have to but now that Warren mentioned the possibility he could only think to do exactly that.

"Thanks for the tip."

"Don't mention it," Warren smiled at his sarcasm, then commented, "As noble as sacrificing one's self is it's really overrated. Your father only got away with it because he has always been a lucky bastard. And the last time he did, it was totally unnecessary and cost a lot more than just his life."

He wondered if by last time Warren meant his father's sacrifice to save his Mum from Gaunt's death curse. But what he said didn't exactly make sense. His father didn't lose his life then, just his memory.

Warren and his father had been partners and Hugo assumed they were friends. Until these past few days he never got this impression that Warren didn't like his father, maybe because he was too pre-occupied doing a lot of the disliking himself. And the way Warren was around his Mum earlier was odd. Even Hugo felt his impatience and frustration with her, which was out of the ordinary for him.

In the years his Mum and Warren had been lovers, for Hugo figured they were even though they tried to be discreet about it, he had never seen Warren like this. Warren was by no means perfect but he didn't try to be a father and, most of all, he didn't suck up to him like some of the others who wanted to date his Mum.

Was Warren jealous of his father being around? Was there reason for him to be jealous? Hugo hoped not. The thought of his parents getting back together was too troubling to begin to consider, especially if it was going to be because of him. That was just wrong. And, he at least knew for a fact that Warren cared about his Mum. He couldn't say the same about his father.

"I know just the thing to keep everyone's minds off Malvado for a while," Warren had an idea and was excited, "We'll have a party tonight, a surprise birthday party, for your Mum! We'll invite everyone!"

It was his Mum's birthday tomorrow and Warren was crazy. His Mum didn't like parties for herself, and Hugo already knew how much she'd like having an entire village surprise her with one.

"You want to throw Mum a surprise birthday party," Hugo repeated, just in case Warren didn't fully realize what he just proposed.

His Mum’s friend reconsidered, "Right, she'll kill me. It'll just be a village celebration then. These folks don't really need much reason to party. A couple of rounds of Red Thestral ought to do the trick. And if some drunk Being starts singing 'Happy Birthday' then so be it."

Warren had made up his mind and it was set. They were off to tell Gracie to get things started. Even as they did Hugo still couldn't stop thinking about Malvado.

Wand vs Stone...that has to be it...

Then again, maybe his Mum was right. Maybe it wasn't about the Hallows. But if not the Hallows, what?

XXXXXXXXXX

A wand swished and, not a split second later, several others followed. Ernie was already off his feet by the time Ted fired in the direction of the person who cursed him.

Hermione blocked Ted's offensive hex that was meant for Seamus just as the Metamorph felt the sting of an attack from Gummy. Ted lost his wand and magical ropes wrapped around his arms and torso before he could get it back.

He struggled to get out of the bind but they only got tighter as he did. Scoping the field for help, he saw Ron lose to Boris and Gummy while Hermione restrained Seamus from attacking Ernie further.

"Hermione!l" Ron screamed out, "Get your thugs off me!"

That drew Gummy's ire. The MLE punched him in the face.

"We are not thugs!" Gummy told Ron angrily, the latter now bound in chains like Ted was.

"You just proved that you are one!" Ron spit in his face.

"Enough!" Dovalov held the MLE veteran back as Gummy wanted to strike again.

"Let us go!" Ron yelled at her.

Hermione appealed to the Russian, "The ropes aren't necessary."

It was Seamus who cut in, "Ernie is a traitor. He was at the Pitch and he tried to get the Snitch. Humptail got to him."

"That's not true!" Ernie denied instantly.

"I can vouch for him," Ron spoke up, "He's been in jail with me for hours."

"There's a logical explanation to this," Hermione said to the group.

Dovalov approached and scanned Ernie's mind.

He confirmed, "It wasn't him at the Pitch."

"An imposter? Why would Humptail do that?" Hermione wondered out loud, and everyone seemed to forget about them.

"Excuse me," Ted reminded them, "Can somebody untie us, please?"

No one moved. The young Auror quickly surmissed that something was not right.

Hermione was apologetic, "I wish it were as simple as that."

"What do you mean?!" Ron was enraged, "It's your little club of misfits! Just tell them to let us go!"

Hermione turned to Ron and chastised him, "Maybe if you shut up and stop insulting them, they just might."

There were footsteps coming from the corridor, briefly causing added anxiety to the situation until Dovalov recognized the newcomer and announced, "It's Cristos."

"The asshole is part of this!?" Ron exclaimed in disbelief, echoing the exact same thought on Ted's mind.

"Yes, the asshole is," the Head Unspeakable replied stoically as he appeared at the door and then clarified, "It's not her club. We don't take orders from her. We have rules. And I'm sorry for being late. I was unexpectedly detained. Did I miss anything?"

Max gave Hermione a not-so-pleased look which Hermione answered with indifference.

Dovalov replied, "Not much. We were interrupted just before Hermione could walk us through a plan."

Ron turned to her and complained, "How can you let this despicable Unspeakable be a part of this and not me?!"

Hermione pretended not to hear him, "Boris, they're family, close friends. They know about the Hallows. Ron has known about it as long as I have and Harry told Ted and Ernie everything. They are just trying to help."

"The rules..."

"The rules are from a different time," she pointed out, "They will not betray us."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Ron was just making things worse.

"Ignore him; he's trying to pick a fight with me," Hermione instructed them.

"Ignore me?! Did she just tell them to ignore me?!"

Everyone did try to ignore Ron (including Ted) as the senior POTH members, Hermione, Gummy, Max and Dovalov, went into a mini huddle close to where Winky and Figg were seated. Seamus joined them. Dovalov was not budging.

"We have to be certain. We have enemies in many places and families to protect. Some of us have done unlawful, unforgivable transgressions still punishable in some jurisdictions. We have to look after each other. We made a vow."

"I agree with Boris," Max put in his vote.

Winky, who had been quiet before, threw in her support for Hermione, "Winky trusts whoever Hermione trusts."

"So do I," Figg added.

"I don't," Gummy interjected, "But I don't trust anybody."

"Ask me! Ask me! I want to vote!" Ron exclaimed, an attempt to spoil the process.

"Finnigan?" Max drew everyone's attention to Seamus.

"I trust Ron and Ted, but Ernie, I don't know. I see him easily ratting us out like -" Seamus didn't finish the thought and instead apologized, "I'm sorry Hermione."

"That's 4 to 3," Max did the final count, "But most of us trust them enough. With the recent murders and Merlin only knows how many more, we could use some future pillars, particularly non civilians with above average skills, who can help us in adversarial situations like we are facing now."

Ron interrupted again, "For the record, I'm not just above average...more like cream of the crop, definitely good pillar material."

"Whatever," Max shrugged, adding, "The current membership is obviously lacking in firepower. No offense meant."

The Unspeakable looked over to the three new POTH members following the insincere apology. Seamus gave him the finger.

“The Unspeakable Unspeakable does have a point,” Gummy observed, "Our less combat trained members are indeed dropping like flies."

Hermione wasn't supportive of Max's suggestion and made it clear, "This is not some private army. We have enough pillars."

Max answered Hermione back, "We need back-up. Finnigan was the last reserve. I don't see us getting rid of the Hallows soon."

"Our usual approach of choosing prospective members is much better. I don't approve of this coercive method of recruitment," Hermione argued back.

The Unspeakable pointed out, "This is not coercive."

Ron blurted out, "Except for being magically bound against our will, he's really right. Not coercive at all!"

Dovalov continued, "They can choose to join us or not. Your opposition to the practice is duly noted and we can discuss it at a later time. For now, you can either help or watch."

Hermione threw her hands in the air, giving up. She turned to him, Ron and Ernie, mostly apologetic but also frustrated. Out of principle she was choosing to watch. The junior members of the POTH were looking on too, curious as he was about what was next.

Ernie asked the question, "So, what happens now?"

Three parchments with identical writings appeared in front of them.

"Before you is list of vows, our vows - " Dovalov explained.

Ted's eyes wandered over the words and began reading.

I vow not to use the Peverell Hallows.

"Read them carefully and decide if you want to join us."

I vow to support efforts to destroy the Peverell Hallows.

"If you join us you will make these Unbreakable vows -"

I vow not to expose the identity and actions of my fellow Pillars of the Hallows.

"The Keeper will tell you where the other Hallows are and, under the Fidelus, you will keep that secret -"

I vow to keep secret the identity of the Keeper.

"And finally, a memory suppressing charm that will lift as soon as you are needed to sit at this table."

"And if we don't agree?" Ron asked seriously.

"We Obliviate you and you will have no memory of what you saw or heard here," Gummy replied.

"I strongly encourage Obliviation," Hermione suggested, cautioning them, "There is a fine print. Much will be required of you if you become part of this. You have to be very careful about what you say, who you say it to and what you do. It is not for everyone. Think of your family."

It was clear that Hermione didn't want them involved in the POTH and her mention of family hit home. The only thing Ted could think of was how it could affect his relationship with his wife. Not a few seconds after, Ron, still bound like him and Ernie, spoke up.

“It’s settled then!” he was grinning smugly at Hermione as he declared, "I'm in, and only because she thinks I don't have what it takes."

"I don't think it; I know it, "Hermione said with certainty, keeping her emotions under control, "Think about it again. You're being rash."

"And you're being narrow minded. I can do this," he announced with confidence.

Ron's mind was set. Seamus released him from the magical ropes and welcomed him.

Hermione wasn't letting go so easily, "You're making a big mistake, Ron."

Ron walked over to where she was and stood within inches from her with a challenge.

"I am, am I? Why exactly is that?!"

"You want to do this now?!" she said through gritted teeth.

Ron growled back, "It's only been what - thirteen years too late?!"

Realizing what this was really about she excused herself from the group and led Ron out in the hallway. She stopped a few meters from the door and then created a sound privacy shield around them.

Then they had a row. By Ted's visual estimation it was really a bad one The POTH stood around awkwardly, trying not to stare, Max glancing at his timeteller impatiently, while the rest averted their gazes somewhere else.

XXXXXXXX

Moments earlier, Hermione took Ron outside to try and talk him out of what he was about to agree to.

"Don't do this!"

"Why not, I mean aside from the fact that it's a lame club to begin with?"

"Because you have no filters. If I thought this would be right for you I would have asked you to be part of it a long time ago!"

"You were thinking of what's best for me?"

"As a matter of fact I was!"

"And were you thinking of that when you lied to my face about who Hugo's father was?! You took me for an idiot, making me fall for that bit about raising Hugo on your own! Pure genius! Laughed yourself into tears on that one, did you?!"

"It didn't happen that way! I didn't ask you! You offered and I told you 'no' but you insisted!" she tried refreshing his memory and when all that didn't work, said to herself, "I shouldn't have let you volunteer!"

Ron heard it and set him off again, "You think?! Or at least told me the truth that you were fucking my sister's husband so I wouldn't even think of trying to save your dignity!"

"No, Ron! That wasn't about saving my dignity! You didn't do it for Rosie either! That was all about you and your stupid ego! You couldn't let go because you couldn't stand the thought of people talking about how you couldn't keep your marriage and about how your soon to be ex-wife got herself pregnant by another man! That was what that was about!"

"If you told me who the cheating father was that would have been a very different conversation! But you didn’t! You deliberately chose not to knowing I would fucking kill him!”

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want him to know! And you would have never understood!”

“Damn straight! You let me save his ass! You let me save yours! I was a fucking convenience! You just had to take advantage of me!"

"I guess I did!"

"Well that's good to know! At least I feel less of an idiot knowing you did!"

"And I regret it! I would have been perfectly fine raising Hugo on my own!"

"Oh you've done such a great job, so far, letting Hugo face this thing by himself!"

"What?!"

"You're such a coward! Pretending to be dead and leaving notes so you won't have to personally explain to everyone how you fucked up your son's life!"

That hurt. Hermione was holding back tears both from how much that stung and how angry she was. She felt like exploding on him.

When she finally got herself to calm down she said, "If you believe I would let Hugo face this on his own, fake my death because I didn't want to own up to it, then I can't really do anything about that. And yes, I do live with the thought that what I made Hugo go through may have irreparably damaged him for life.

“But honestly Ron! You can be such an insensitive, tunnel visioned, prick! I know you're mad at me and you have every right to be! But this, this here, is not the time or place to be picking a fight!"

"I'll pick a fight whenever and wherever I want to! I'm not letting you get off easily, not like Ginny did!"

Hermione had it with him, "Fine! If you want to be part of this just to spite me, then do it! I'll expect you to whine about it when the time comes and when that happens I have no problem telling you, and you know this from being married to me, that I told you so!"

"Fine! Where do I sign!?"

XXXXXXXX

Sometime earlier, back inside the room, Ted and Ernie waited with the POTH.

"This is ridiculous," Max expressed his exasperation not ten seconds after Hermione left with Ron, "I don't have time for this."

Seamus came to Hermione's defense, "You can leave whenever you want."

"There's an idea," Gummy added, "There's some meeting you have to attend, right?"

Dovalov interceded, "A little patience, Cristos."

Winky chastised, "And a little empathy, perhaps."

Seamus scoffed, "Max doesn't know the meaning of the word."

Ted watched the POTH as Ron and Hermione continued to argue in acoustic segregation.

Ernie spoke, "I have a question."

"Yes?"

There was a collective relief that they had at least something else to talk about.

The MLE framed his query, "Not that I'm agreeing to this and not that I plan to break any of the vows if I were to agree, but has anyone actually died because they um - slipped?"

"It's amazing how the prospect of Death has deterred slip-ups," Max answered coldly, sending shivers up Ted's spine.

The elf commented not so innocently, "Winky understands that's particularly true for you?"

Max didn’t deny the accusation but defended himself, "It is difficult to find ways to destroy something you cannot fully understand. As a man of science, part of understanding is using it. So, to answer your question, yes. The vow is the only thing that keeps me from using the Hallows."

"So why did you sign up?" Ted inquired.

Max's face turned red, "Unlike you I had no choice. I kept going after them and they got tired of Obliviating me. I was forced to join."

When he left it at that Dovalov reminded him, "And it was only way to get rid of parasitic beast within you."

Ted thought that interesting but realized neither would expound further even if he asked. Burkes and Dovalov must have recruited him in POTH but Ted wondered if Hermione was on board with Max being a member.

It was interesting and troubling to note how the usually hands-on Hermione wasn't involved at all in this current process. Ted earlier thought she led the POTH but these recent events showed that perhaps there were aspects of it that she had no control over. It somehow got out of hand when the Head Unspeakable arrived on scene. There was an obvious adversarial element to their interaction, like she was playing some private chess game with him. Ted suspected that the delay in Max's arrival here was her doing so she could push through an agenda without the Head Unspeakable being present and likely to be obstructive.

"After a while keeping the secret becomes second nature, really" Gummy said positively.

Seamus muttered, "Much easier if you only ever talk to yourself."

"True."

"To be fair I echo Hermione's caution. Joining is not without personal cost," Dovalov added, "It isn't vow to not use Hallows that's hardest to keep, for most of us. It's need for secrecy. We have been inactive for long time but back in days when we had to intervene often, those of us with significant others had our share of struggles. While we can reveal ourselves we rarely do, especially not to our loved ones for their own safety. Clandestine meetings with unknown individuals and unexplained absences are not healthy for relationships. You can imagine what first assumptions are."

Ted heard the privacy shell dissipate and both Hermione and Ron rejoined them. Hermione walked as far away from Ron as she could without leaving the room. They were done arguing, at least for now.

"Give him the contract," she snapped at Dovalov, her tone as cold as ice, extremely mad, judging from how flushed she was.

Ron had a scowl on his face too as he got his wand back.

"Hey Ted," he called out, "Just do it. I'll back you up."

The invitation was to undoubtedly rile Hermione up even more and he wasn't disappointed.

It didn't help when Seamus made an encouraging remark, "Yeah, we can back each other up."

Gummy began going over the parchment with Ron. By then, the attention of the rest of the crew was on Ernie. Ernie had finished reading the vows, more than a few times, and was next to decide.

The deputy MLE stammered, "I - I'd love to help but I'm not cut out for this. My family will ask questions and it will be difficult not to be honest. Thanks for the offer. Sorry."

"Don't be," Dovalov responded.

The Russian nodded over to Max after seeing that Gummy was not quite finished with Ron. Max immediately went to work on wiping Ernie's memory. Seconds later Ron was passed out on a reclining chair, put to sleep following the memory suppression charm. The blank expression on Ernie's face meant Max was finished too. It was his turn.

In the decision he was about to make he thought of Harry, of how the Head Auror had sent him in and was counting on him for information. He was intensely frustrated that he was about to let Harry down. If only he had held onto his disguise a little longer he wouldn't be in this situation.

But that was all moot. Briefly, he considered morphing non-human and possibly escape, but the last transformation still left him disoriented and he wasn't sure he could pull another one off safely.

Ted looked up, all of them meeting his gaze in eager anticipation save for one. That was odd. It was as if she didn't want to sway his decision one way or the other any further than she already had.

With all that Ted went with common sense. He took Hermione's advice, thinking about Tori and their unborn child, and how much more secrecy his marriage could handle.

"I'm out," he said, "Just be careful with my memory. My wife will kill me if I forget about her."

"I'll remind you," Seamus reassured, somewhat disappointed, "Sad though. I was really looking forward to having more of us here."

Dovalov was aiming at his forehead and was about to cast the spell when something distracted him again.

He turned to Hermione and asked, "Would you rather perform this yourself?"

Hermione was quick to answer, "I'm sure you're perfectly capable."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dunk Dillidingbat wiped the sweat off his fat face and aimed the miniature table fan at himself, without much relief from the hot humid air. Not even the intermittent mists from the nearby Fountain of Hope helped. A floor to ceiling magical fence was erected in front of it right across the main hall, separating the lifts from the arrival and departure bays, where a sea of witches, wizards and Beings were still camped.

Although some were Ministry employees, many of them were media and civilians hoping to be part of the Wizengamot gallery for a historic meeting. They waiting to get through one of the ten security lanes staffed by Aurors and MLE.

It was near chaos is the Ministry Atrium.

"Sign here, here and here, reason for visit, time here. Answer all these questions and hand them to me."

The veteran MLE pointed at the various parts on the parchment, giving instructions to the wizard he was checking in at the moment. It is already seven p.m. He had been at it for hours, signing in dozens upon dozens that all those going through were just a blur to him.

"It's busy here today," the wizard in front of him remarked as he signed in, "Expecting trouble?"

"The Interim MOM is just being cautious," he replied without looking up, "Wizengamot's choosing the new Minister tonight after all."

"Jericho just resigned last night. Seems uncharacteristically swift," he heard the man say. "What's the rush?"

"Don't know and don't care," Dunk bunched up the pile of filled out forms and started putting them away, "I just do as I'm told. Place your wand in the box."

The wizard did and handed him the filled out paper. He was quickly going over the answers to the screening questions (not a single one he went through today drew a flag) when an alarm sounded throughout the building, followed by a coded announcement.

"Two rotten eggs broken on Level Two! Clean up crew needed immediately!"

Several Aurors from the area immediately scrambled for the lifts. There was a jailbreak from the Auror office holding cell, not a surprise to Dunk at all. It was only a matter of time before Auror Weasley would, considering there was no one guarding him. All Aurors who reported back (and there were not many) were assigned to Wizengamot security.

"That can't be good," the man stated the obvious.

Across the way, Hank Trussell, the current Head Auror, stood on a chair and bellowed to the crowd, "We have an internal breach! Clear the Atrium! If you are not a Ministry Employee leave at once! We cannot guarantee your safety!"

The annoucement caused pandemonium and at that exact moment, he noticed the wand analyser going crazy, flashing him multiple, red cautions. He couldn't believe what he was reading. His insides going crazy, Dunk mustered the courage to look up at the wizard before him for the first time and recognized the man instantly.

Fuck...

"Is something the matter?" Harry Potter asked him.

The warnings continued on the screen.

Outstanding Arrest Warrant!!!

Proceed with utmost caution! Consider armed and extremely dangerous!

Maybe Auror Potter didn't know that there was an outstanding arrest warrant out for him but Dunk decided that, if that was the case, he wouldn't be the one to let the Auror know. Dunk wasn't paid enough for that kind of shit.

"N-no," the words stumbled out of his mouth, "N-not that I know of."

"Can you tell me if that was Auror Weasley who just broke out of prison?"

The MLE veteran nodded, paralyzed about what to do next. He figured that going for the weapon in his pocket was not going to be a good choice, particularly when the former Head Auror had already noticed the law enforcement crowd he was attracting.

Harry Potter sighed, "I guess that's one thing off my list. I'll be needing my wand now."

Shit...

"Please?" Harry Potter looked him in the eye, waiting.

"I c-can't," a voice from within him said.

His answer didn't impress the former Head Auror one bit. Dunk could see Aurors and Hit Wizards in his peripheral vision with their weapons out, waiting for a signal from Trussell. Even with the threat, Harry Potter looked calm, in sharp contrast to what he and everyone else was going through.

"Dunk," the former Head Auror put things in quite plain terms, "I know you have a job to do but I really like my wand. If you make me ask for it again, I won't be as nice."

Large beads of sweat poured down the side of his face. Dunk Dillidingbat couldn't think past what he was thinking.

I am so fucked!

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Who thinks Warren was telling Hugo the entire truth? Who hopes he was?

What about the Unspeakable Unspeakable?

Ron was being an ass but Hermione probably deserved it.

Many of you are really following the story well – some even better that me! Lol! You keep me on my toes :)

59. Politicking

A/N. Greetings!

Am behind sched and also on review replies – my apologies. Summer craziness began and nothing beats 2 boys not in school when it comes to sucking energy from you :) . Summer camps are pure genius.

Not quite what I thought I would write but I just go with the flow. I tried to look into who actually chooses the next Minister but my limited time and research skills brought me to a dead end so am assuming a lot here. Hope I can be forgiven if I’m not exactly right.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 59 – Politicking

Leila Gennaro was crankier than usual. Since her boss was sacked she had been relegated to do menial tasks within the Ministry secretarial pool and she he wasn't sure how much more of the demotion she could take.

She supposed she was lucky they hadn't fired her, or worse, put her in jail. She had answered Humptail's and Trussel's pointy questions as best she could, telling them the truth that, as far as she knew, Auror Potter was overseas doing his job. For her own protection she had always only been privy to the administrative aspects of her boss' schedule.

She was worried about him. In many ways the young Head Auror was the closest person to a relative she had. It was the only reason she had decided to stick around. She could at least help him if he needed help, though really, she didn't know how.

"Are you coming, Leila?" one of the assistants asked, while the others in the small group were getting ready to leave.

"In a minute. I'll see you there," she replied.

They were all headed to the main Wizengamot courtroom balcony to witness the selection of the next Minister. Leila hoped the Wizengamot would be wise enough not to choose Humptail. While she had never worked for the wizard, the dodgy stuff he was involved in during his tenure were numerous and pervasive, most of it they had to clean up.

Finally she was alone. She made her way over to the desk of the assistant supporting the Minister's office and quickly scanned for anything unusual or illegal. Thinking of which she couldn't help the anxiety. Her heart was beating so fast she couldn't concentrate. She had never done anything covert like this in her life!

Tap!Tap!

She jumped at the sound, knocking a potted plant over and it crashed on the floor.

"I'm so sorry! I -"

Leila stopped her guilt ridden confession when she recognized who it was.

"I didn't mean to startle you," Hermione Granger said to her, repairing the broken pot as Leila still stood frozen in shock, "We've never exchanged pleasantries in the past so I won't even bother. We don't have much time and I need your help."

Leila regarded Ms. Granger's request and couldn't think what she might need.

"Will it get Mr. Potter his job back?" she asked what the most important thing to her was.

"Harry doesn't need help to get his job back," Granger replied in a knowing tone, one that always annoyed Leila, "This is me asking you a favour for myself."

"Why would I help you?"

"Because even though you don't like me you're a decent human being, loyal to your Ministry and your country," Granger took out a phial with a silvery grey substance, poured it into a memory reader and handed the screen to her, "And your Ministry and country needs you."

Mostly out of curiosity she took the object and looked at the images that played before her. She gasped.

"Is that -?"

"The current Minister using the AK on me with Salazar Malvado beside him," Granger confirmed.

The memory was not from Granger's point of view but from someone who was in close proximity to Malvado and Humptail, someone who had a clear vantage point of where the curses were aimed at.

"It could be tampered memory."

"He will say that it is. It isn't."

Leila didn't doubt her because her boss wouldn't, and she trusted her boss implicitly.

"You can't just accuse the Minister. It'll be your word against his."

Granger wasn't stupid.

"That's why I need your help," she answered back and gave her a list of names, "I need certain members of the Wizengamot to see this and soon."

Her role in this suddenly became clear. Leila, in her capacity as assistant to the Head Auror, had direct access to those in the Wizengamot Auror Potter had good working relations with.

Granger asked, "Can you do it?"

"How soon?"

"Before the deliberation. Tell them I will bring proof to the meeting. And give them this warning of what Humptail intends to do. I trust them all to act accordingly when that happens."

The meeting was less than an hour away and there were twelve names on the list. She took the parchment with neat handwriting and went over it quickly, believing its contents to be true. At that point she couldn't know and not do anything. Also, if she did it, Granger would owe her. She'd been waiting for years for that to happen.

Leila was on a mission.

"Consider it done."

XXXXXXXXXX

Al wiped the newly formed beads of sweat off his forehead and downed half of the ice cold water in his glass. He looked across the table at Rosie who was doing the same. They both just had showers and were taking a rest at one of the huts, the one that belonged to Warren Gates. Class was dismissed for the day as everyone else was helping in the preparations for the village celebration.

Rosie had been uncharacteristically quiet since coming back from class.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Mum's going to send me to Shell Cottage when she gets back," Rosie replied, sullen and miserable already.

"You want to be here when it happens?"

"I'm crazy but not that insane. I hope it never happens," Rosie admitted, "I just don't want to be in Shell Cottage with all the family there."

"You're thinking too much. I'm sure no one blames you for any of this."

"Lily won't even talk to me."

"She doesn't blame you. Don't take it personally. She's not talking to anyone."

"I don't want to be there when they rip my Mum and drag her character through the mud."

The Weasley wives could be unforgiving, that much Al knew just from hearing what went on during family gatherings. They'd probably give his Dad the same courtesy. He didn't want to be around for that either.

"They'll eventually get tired of it," he tried to make her feel better, "Or maybe they'll be over it by the time we get there."

She playfully criticized him, "Optimistic fool."

"Pathological pessimist," he retorted.

Rosie grew serious as she told him, "If I haven't said it yet, thanks for staying here with me."

She already did, many times.

"You're welcome."

"Do you think it was my Mum's fault?"

Al thought about it for a while but the answer was simple.

He nodded and said, "And my Dad's."

"Are you angry at her for what's happened?"

"Not really. I probably should be but Aunt Hermione has always been good to us. And she's always stood by Dad that I kind of feel bad for her. It must have been brutal when Dad decided to stay with Mum. I was angrier at my Dad when he first told us, you know, for hurting Mum. But Mum isn't angry at him, at least she isn't anymore. Actually, come to think of it, I’ve never remembered her or even seen her angry at him."

“Aunt Ginny is a saint,” Rosie concluded, sharing his admiration for how his Mum was handling the situation, "Are you mad at Uncle Harry now?"

"Not so much. I figure it's useless to be angry. I just want us all to move on. I want it all fixed, for everyone to get along."

"Like it never happened."

"Exactly."

"Me too," Rosie replied quietly.

Even though she didn't say, the tone in her voice wasn't positive at all. Al shared her lack of optimism this time. Things were never going back to the way they were. They both realized that but neither wanted to say it, perhaps on the off chance that a miracle would happen and they didn't want to jinx it.

"Anybody home?" someone was calling from outside the house. "Hugo? Are you up there?"

Rosie got up and went down the wooden steps to the main living area to meet the caller. Al followed closely behind.

"Hiya Pink Rose!" greeted a blond, Caucasian teenager.

"Spencer, right?" Rosie confirmed.

"That and whatever other name you want to call me," the flirtation grated on Al's skin unpleasantly.

"Wolfie it is," Rosie teased back. Al hated being around Rosie when she got hormonal. She continued, "Hugo isn't here. Hi Isa."

Rosie greeted the girl behind 'Wolfie'. Al couldn't see her face as his view was obscured by the boy's broad shoulders.

"Hi Rose. Love what you've done with the hair," Isa greeted back, her voice easy and sweet and she actually sounded like she meant what she said about Rosie's hair.

Isa took a step forward and all of sudden, beyond any expectation, Al found himself face to face with the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his entire life.

And she was smiling warmly at him. She spoke.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"I’m Isa, Hugo’s friend. Spencer and I go to school with him."

"Hi."

"You must be Albus."

"Yes."

His reply was followed by a deafening silence. That was it?! That was all he could come up with?! He was talking with the most beautiful girl he had ever met in his life and all he could think of to say were three single words?

Al felt like an idiot. She must think he was an idiot. He'd have to kick himself later. Isa turned her attention to Rosie, asking her how she was. It sounded like they met over the summer.

"Spencer," the other friend introduced himself.

"Al," he replied, barely putting a thought while they shook hands.

Spencer went back to flirting with Rosie, asking her about Hugo again. Al just stood there mesmerized by Isa's face, radiant as she listened to Rosie's answer attentively. She was about five two, with long, silky, black hair and smooth, light brown skin. Her eyes slanted up on the edges somewhat, complimenting a delicate nose and a perfect mouth. She was breathtaking. He could watch her all day - forever even.

Then she glanced up at him, their gaze meeting only fleetingly because he felt like he was doing something wrong and he had to look away. But not before she made a burning impression in his memory. Her eyes were warm and a rich, hazelnut brown.

There was an intense uncontrollable fluttering in his stomach. Butterflies, a gazillion mini butterflies.

For lack of knowledge on what to do (and for fear of doing more idiotic things), he excused himself and headed out of the house, walking fast and as far away from her as he could.

XXXXXXXX

"Ron, Ron," a familiar somewhat irritating female voice was calling him, "Wake up, Ron."

He was being nudged too. Purposely, he ignored it, seeking to go back to the deep, restful slumber.

"Ron, Ron -"

The soothing rhythmic sound of waves gently crashing against white beach lulling him -

"Ron!"

"What?!" he finally answered, opening his eyes then abruptly shielding them from the bright wand light right in front of him, "Get that thing away!"

As it moved back it shone on the face of someone he didn't quite expect to see.

"Ghost!!" he yelped, getting up and jumping away suddenly from a sitting position, his head and back hitting the hard surface of what was a tunnel the size of a crawlspace.

The image of a crouched Hermione just looked at him with annoyance, "Honestly Ron!"

"Hermione?!"

"Since when did you develop a fear for ghosts?"

"Is that really you?"

Ron couldn't believe his eyes. His arm went up, finger pointed and he started poking her; her cheek, her shoulder, her -

"If you poke me one more time I'm going to hex you to prove I'm real," she threatened under her breath.

It was definitely Hermione, the genuine one, not the zombie who gave him the shaft. He took in his surroundings and reality set in.

"What's going on? What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Where the fuck is here?!"

"We're under the main Wizengamot courtroom," Hermione explained, pointing her lit wand up the low ceiling. She paused for a few seconds and they could actually hear the buzz of incoherent talking, "How are you feeling?"

"I'm just fine," he replied, the bottled up resentment he had put off by her concern. He wanted to say all the things he had been thinking to say since he clued in to the possibility that she was alive, but he couldn't until he asked, "Where's Ernie? I was just with him."

"I asked a friend to take him to a safe place. We found both of you passed out in the Ministry dungeons."

The Ministry what?! The last thing he remembered was chatting with free Willy about using the emergency elevator. He could use more details but really, how he ended up here and where Ernie was wasn't as important anymore.

"What the fuck is going on, Hermione?! We all thought you were dead!"

"I'm obviously not," she answered then headed off his next thought, defensive, "And no, I didn't fake my own death to let Hugo do what he did on his own. I was out for a while and couldn't send word."

Of course she would never do that to Hugo but Ron would have accused her still just to get under her skin. It was irritating that he lost that opportunity.

"I can't believe - !"

"Ron," she interrupted again, her tone more gentle and less abrasive than usual as she touched his arm, "I know you want to scream and yell at me for what I did to you and what I did to Hugo You have every right to. It was wrong to let you volunteer to be Hugo's father and I do feel guilty about taking advantage of the goodness of your heart. I had my reasons but not one of them will help make you feel less hurt than you are right now.

"And what Harry and I did was wrong. We both knew that and that's why it had to stop. It happened a very long time ago and Ginny, Harry and I are all past it. I couldn't tell you, more so when I decided not to tell Harry about Hugo, and I'm really sorry for making you feel like an idiot. It wasn't my intention to."

Ron opened his mouth but he lost his train of thought and had to shut it. He was speechless, as if he had already said everything he wanted to say. Hermione continued.

"If you still want to yell and scream at me I'm good with that, though I'd really appreciate it if you did it later. The Wizengamot's about to choose the new Minister and I'm going to need your help in a few minutes."

Hermione had let go of his arm and was handing him his wand. Ron had to think as she waited for a response. Her apology was sincere and her admission of wrongdoing was surprising. More shocking and a record of sorts was not once in her monologue did she insult him. She knew exactly how he felt; she understood. That hadn't happened in, well, frankly ever. Dammit! She was really good at heading him off! He couldn't lecture her, not after that.

"So, I can yell at you later?" he verified., irked at himself for feeling the way he did and at her for ruining his meticulously thought out diatribe..

"I promise I won't interrupt."

"That I have to see," Ron snatched his wand from her and pouted, wagging it at her, "We're not done with this."

"It would be so unlike us if we were," she knowingly commented with her usual tinge of sarcasm.

Ron was comforted by their return to normalcy. The sound of a gavel hammering three times up above signalled the start of the proceedings.

Ron turned to Hermione and asked, "What is it that you'd like me to do?"

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry could feel about a dozen pairs of eyes on him and more wands.. While he was confident that he would win the 12 to 1 fight, he had no intention of firing a curse. Well, unless he really had to.

He looked straight at Dunk Dillidingbat, his right hand waiting for the wand. He had his spare primed to summon it but he figured it was better to give the guy a choice. The MLE veteran, caught between a rock and a hard place, gave in.

"Thank you," Harry nodded and the MLE officer did the same, relieved.

"Harry!" Hank called out to him from the back row behind two beefy law enforcers, "Don't even think about it!"

He pocketed his main weapon and turned around to face them. He counted fifteen (so he was off a bit), standing twenty feet away. All of them had either worked for him or with him, most of them he had hired himself. Even though they were poised to curse, none of them were really mentally prepared to hex him, at least he didn't think so. Of course, he could be wrong.

"Don't think about what, Hank?" he asked as he leaned back against the table without a worry, his arms folded across his chest.

The question caught Hank off guard and he began to stammer, "Well, uh, about causing trouble here. We're uh- placing you under arrest."

Harry chuckled, "Are you sure? Who do you mean by 'we'?"

"We!" he motioned about, riled up by his confidence.

"I hate to be the one to break this to you but they're not going to arrest me," Harry stated, their true loyalties now surfacing with what he just said.

Hank's eyes darted to his right and left, assessing the situation.

"I wanted to discuss this misunderstanding with Leo but I guess I'll have to take it up with the interim Minister," Harry replied, "Where is the git anyway?"

"You do not call him names! The Minister demands respect-!"

"He can demand all he wants. He's not getting it from me."

"Arrest him!" the order came and as Harry expected, not one made a move. Predictably, Hank threatened, "Refusing to follow an order from a superior is considered treason! Arrest him!"

When his command still fell on deaf ears Hank made the errant decision of attacking him. Several hexes came from different directions. The haze settled and the current Head Auror found himself hogtied and muzzled, struggling out of the binds.

Harry approached his team and one of the more senior Aurors asked, "What would you like us to do with him?"

"Lock him up and have him watched," he decided swiftly, "Any sign of Ron?"

"None so far. Nor Mr. McMillan."

"Ernie was with him?"

"Since this morning."

Ginny told him what happened at the Pitch. That didn't make sense.

"And Humptail?"

"At the Wizengamot," someone informed.

That was actually good. Maybe he could kill two birds with one stone. However, he did have to decide how far to let his anger loose on the asshole without disrespecting the Wizengamot.

"I need two men to come with me," Harry ordered, then, after he picked two from those who volunteered, turned to the senior Auror, "Set up the rest to monitor the perimeter. Let's keep the lock down until the dust clears."

With that he took the two Aurors and headed for the lifts.

XXXXXXXXXX

Tiberius Tudor pounded the gavel hard, the three strikes echoing several times around the four walls of the Wizengamot. As Chief Warlock for the last four years his leadership had been tested a few times but not like he knew it would be today.

The scene in front of him was a zoo; his job today was to be zookeeper. The collapse in the London Ministry leadership was to blame. First, the sacking of a well respected Head Auror, then the resignation of an ailing Minister, the same one who sacked him. Tiberius had a very bad feeling about all of it but until Harry Potter showed up to answer questions, he could do nothing.

"This session is now in order," his baritone voice pierced through the hum of disorganized chatter. Quiet now, all eyes were upon him, "We are here today to find a suitable replacement for former Minister Leonidas Jericho. I acknowledge the presence of Interim Minister Hosiah Humptail, members of his cabinet as well as the audience up in the gallery."

"As a rule, only wizards or witches of British citizenship fifty years and older with good legal standing and without past criminal convictions are eligible to participate in this process. Minister Humptail has asked me to preside to avoid conflict of interest and has informed me that he is waiving his right for automatic nomination."

There were murmurs from the crowd. That was unexpected. Tiberius glanced at the emotionless temporary leader, thinking that it was smart of him to realize that he would never get chosen to be Minister, not by the current Wizengamot. It was unlikely that he would get an endorsement. Removing himself from competition would save both time and embarrassment.

The seventy member assembly, in perfect attendance today, began putting forth nominations. In the first minute names of two prominent elders in the Wizengamot came up - Colin Zabini and Samuel Greengrass. He expected them to be frontrunners. The Hogwarts Headmistress, Septima Vector, considered the dark horse, was in there too, and a distant fourth was the St. Mungo Head Healer, Gwendolyn Abbott.

Then, something unexpected happened. Colin Zabini took the floor.

The Wizengamot veteran spoke in an odd voice, "I respectfully decline the nomination. In the interest of providing a smooth transition. I am throwing my full support behind my colleague, Mr. Greengrass."

That seemed to draw approval from the crowd and all but sealed a Greengrass victory. He would need approval from a majority and he already had that. As a review of the nominees and their various accomplishments occurred, Tiberius was gaining hope that the process wouldn't be as painful as he originally thought.

“Let’s put this to a vote,” he announced.

Old man Jonas McMillan stood up and made a motion, “In view of the sudden series of events that has brought us here, I move that we take a recess to give us time to reflect on our choice for our next Minister.”

“I second the motion,” Constance Lightglow concurred.

Gerry Millhill, a staunch Greengrass supporter rebutted, “This is a deliberate attempt to delay the inevitable and for what? To lobby for votes for the Hogwarts Headmistress? Or maybe Old Man Jonas fancies getting someone to nominate him too.”

“What exactly do you mean by that?!”

Tempers flared, more members joined in the attempt to delay the proceedings even as supporters of Zabini and Greengrass argued for it to continue.

It was an embarrassment to all. He was pounding hard and no one was hearing him. The gallery was amused, the participants oblivious. The undecided Wizengamot members were waiting by the sidelines to see in which direction the power would swing to so they could align themselves to that faction.

In the midst of the chaos, Tiberius noted Harry Potter's arrival. Observing from the back row to the right of the stage, the Auror's eyes swept the scene and then settled on the Minister, watching Hosiah Humptail like a hawk about to go for the kill. It was not difficult to conclude that Potter was pissed at the current Minister and understandably so. Sending Aurors to the Potter house and harassing the Potter family was not a very well thought out move. The Minister, who had been in intense concentration since the motion to postpone the voting was made, noticed Potter too and became ill at ease for the first time that night.

Meanwhile, it was still up to him as Chief Warlock to control the mob.

"Silence!" Tiberius bellowed, a first, and because it was the first it surprised everyone.

No one dared defy his cry for order. Once that was established, he took the necessary steps to regain control of the proceedings.

"Clear the gallery! The rest of the selection process will be behind closed doors!"

His decision was absolute. He watched the audience leave, many muttering complaints as the heavy wooden doors closed behind them. Hosiah was fidgety, casting furtive glances to the entrance furthest away from Potter.

Zabini stood up, pointed at the list of nominees displayed on the large screen and asked, "What's going on here? Why is my name not up there?"

All hell broke loose!

Accusations were thrown about, mostly at Humptail, and how he was tampering with the proceedings. The Interim Minister was now on his feet and he began to move. His guilt was obvious; his intention to leave, clear.

There were clamours to stop him. He was headed for the back exit and a couple of Aurors, Harry Potter included, were trying to intercept. The Minister quickened his pace, his eyes continuing to watch Potter closely. He was close to the doors now, closer than his pursuers. Beyond the walls of the Wizengamot courtroom, as Minister of Magic, he could Disapparate to anywhere within the building.

Then, a few feet from the exit, Hosiah suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. Obstructing his path was a recognizable witch currently at the center of much controversy.

"It was you!" Humptail growled.

The witch replied, “I had help. Though I must say it was stupid of you and Malvado to think you could pull this off.”

The insult found its target. Green beams of light burst from the tip of Hosiah’s wand, all of them headed for Hermione Granger.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N.

Thank goodness someone mentioned Leila, I had to bring her in again just to tie up that piece.

Al, poor Al … I know it’s not vital to the story but I couldn’t resist writing that in.

Harry and Hermione with Ron vs. Humptail up next.

60. Stone vs Stone

A/N. Had lots of trouble with the Humptail scene and then got carried away trying to tie things up with the kids. It’s rather lengthy so pace yourselves. Do enjoy.

And today is July 31, 2010. Happy Birthday, Harry! Thanks to Bill4728 for pointing that out :)

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 60 - Stone vs. Stone

“I’m really glad you could make it. Thanks,” Hugo said to his friends.

They had come and found him just as he was leaving the village elder’s hut. Warren said it was okay to invite them for the party and so he did. He really needed to see them.

“No problem,” Isa answered, “How are you holding up?”

“He’s fine. He’s alive and talking, isn’t he?” Spencer blurted out impatiently, “Come on. Spill it. We heard the news of the Seer’s tent burning down. Tell us everything about your encounter with Malvado.”

“You saw Malvado?” Isa was horrified.

“Yes.”

“And Malvado tried to kill him,” Spencer told the story, “But his dad was there and saved the day.”

“There’s really nothing more to tell. How did you find out about that?” Hugo asked.

“My super hearing picked it up as we walked through the village,” Spencer replied, “Everyone’s talking about it.”

“Great,” Hugo groaned.

“Don’t worry. They still think you’re the one. So all is good.”

Smack!

Isa slapped Spencer on the arm, startling all of them. Isa was not normally prone to physical violence.

“Ow! What was that for?!”

"For being an idiot! It’s not good at all!”

"What do you mean? Hugo’s the man!"

"Hugo is not the man!” Isa proclaimed and concerned about what he believed turned to him, “You are not the man!"

Spencer in his usual way was not worried and brushed it off.

"It doesn’t matter. Malvado thinks he’s the man. That makes him the man. It’s better if Hugo accepts that he is the man that way he can prepare himself for battle."

"There will be no battle. Did you water down your suppression potion again?"

"Of course not. What makes you think I did?"

"Your beastly instincts are more annoying than usual."

Something was very wrong. Isa wasn’t usually mean, particularly not about Spencer’s condition.

"Really?” Spencer retorted, “You didn’t use to find my beastly instincts annoying at all."

“Actually I always have.”

"Please, stop," Hugo couldn’t stand the bickering anymore and interrupted, "What’s up with you two? You’ve been at each other’s throats since the start of the year. What happened over the summer?"

"Nothing," Isa glared at Spencer.

"We should tell Hugo," Spencer caved.

"Absolutely not," she glared at Spencer even more.

"Tell me what?" he looked from one friend to the other.

"It was nothing,” Isa was firm, “Nothing happened."

Spencer didn’t agree, "We were doing a project one night and she was acting funny, suddenly doe eyed. Then she jumped me."

Hugo wasn’t quite prepared for it to be about that.

Isa was quick to refute Spencer’s claim, "I didn’t jump you! You were flirting all week and you made the first move!"

"Hugo. You know that’s not true. I never make the first move. That’s my mantra – ‘ladies first’."

Isa was livid, "This is why I didn't want us to talk about this. I was sure you'd somehow make it worse than it was and I was right."

Why couldn’t it be about something else?

He was their friend and he was obliged to ask, "So what happened? Wait I don’t think I really want to know this."

Isa concurred, "I don’t want to hear it either."

Spencer was not going to stop, “Why? Because I’m right and you’re wrong?”

“Ugh!”

Isa stomped off in a huff. Hugo turned to his friend and gave him a look of disapproval. Spencer melted under his scrutiny.

“Fine. So I did make the first move, and the next. We were kissing and you know touching, then things got a bit too fast and hazy and next thing I know she’s fighting me off. She kneed me in the balls man. Talk about pain – geez!”

“Why is she so upset?”

“She said she was telling me to stop and I wasn’t listening.”

“Isa wouldn’t lie about that.”

“I guess I didn’t hear her.”

Hugo shook his head in disapproval, “Spence, this is not good. And if you didn’t look so miserable right now I would have hexed you already.”

“I tried apologizing. I told her somebody must have watered down my potion again. She didn’t buy that.”

“You think?” Spencer could be such a big ass sometimes, “So, how serious is this for you?”

“I was just curious,” his friend admitted, “She’s changed over the summer. Did you see her? Did you notice her rack? They kind of scream out, do you know what I mean?"

Hugo didn’t want to think about it but now that Spencer mentioned it, Hugo did notice the change. At thirteen Hugo wasn't totally oblivious to girls. That was very difficult to accomplish around Spencer. He had even snogged a few older ones at the school, set up by his best friend. Spencer taught him how to admire and appraise and at that moment, that was exactly what they were doing to Isa. When he realised that he got angry.

"Cut it out, Spence," he chastised.

"And for a first timer she was really good. Do you think she'll forgive me if I tell her that?"

"Really, cut it out,” he repeated emphatically, “I think you should just apologize, and I mean, apologize sincerely without excuses. She isn't just some girl, Spence. It's Isa. She's like family. Thinking about her that way just isn't right."

"Okay, okay. I'll try my best, but you know. I can't help the animal in me. Being around girls it like sets me off."

"Lame excuse Spence. Stay away from my sister,” he told him straight then said, “Aren't wolves supposed to be monogamous or something?"

"Hell no! Tell me you're making that up!"

Hugo just shook his head. He had to find Isa. He hoped Isa wasn’t serious about Spencer either.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the Ministry of Magic…

Hermione saw the fountain of green shoot out from Humptail's wand, splaying out in multiple directions, leaving everything it touched grey and decayed. It was the Fission curse, the intention, to shower a broad area with continuous compact doses of ionizing radiation, not instantly lethal but nonetheless injurious and damaging on contact. She could easily protect herself but she couldn't let any of it reach the other Wizengamot members who were beginning to scatter, taking cover where they could.

Humptail continued on the shortest path to his escape through her. Coming here they had planned for the worst case scenario that they would have to convince the Wizengamot that Humptail was working with Malvado. Hermione was certain now that Harry's attendance took Humptail completely by surprise and threw him off, causing him to make blunders that eventually exposed his true intentions. Harry had definitely made things easier for them. All they had to do now was contain Humptail and having Harry there to help was a definite plus.

She had both her wands out when her eye caught Harry's who was to her left. It took less than a split second for them to decide what to do.

With the better vantage point, Harry conjured a massive conversion screen just past the leading edge of the toxic spell and rolled it into a fencelike structure over and around Humptail. The blue mud-like neutral by-product slid from Harry's shield and flooded the inside of the containment sphere, forcing the Deputy Minister to stop.

With Humptail knee deep in goo and unable to exit Harry's temporarily created cell, Hermione surged forward with wands ablaze, attacking with a combination of paralyzing spells. Humptail with little effort blocked most of them, instantly countered the effects of those that landed and then retaliated, putting her on the defensive.

His impressive wand combat skills weren't a complete surprise. She had studied Humptail's moves and maneuvers well and while the jerk had always been more of a pencil pushing prick not known to be a stellar dueller, he wouldn't have become Head Auror without being one. And since that night she found out Humptail and Malvado were in some kind of a cooperative partnership she had a theory about the Deputy Minister she was aching to prove but had yet to figure out how.

Humptail began pushing back Harry's magic. The spherical wall expanded and burst, sending Harry on his back from the sheer force of the blast. Free once again, Humptail marched on. She did her best getting in between him and the exit, holding her ground. A Humptail-Malvado reunion would be a set-back and she would try to prevent that at all cost.

Harry moved in, drawing Humptail's attention. She scanned the situation quickly and found Boris clearing the room of civilians and non-combatants with Gummy, just as they planned. They must have already disposed of the three Humptail bodyguards.

All of sudden, a flash of light appeared in her peripheral vision. One of Harry's men was to her right and hexing her. She instinctively blocked the succession of curses, making every effort not to hurt the Auror.

"Watch out!" Harry warned shortly after, diverting a Humptail hex inches from it finding her and he almost paid for it.

Annoyed that her ineptitude was causing a distraction, she parried off another attack but got clipped by a hail of wand fire that came from behind. She rolled with the hit, gritting her teeth as pain from the curse radiated from her left shoulder to the tip of her hand. She lost her grip, her second wand flew off somewhere and she landed awkwardly amongst the potted plants in the corner. Her attackers, the Aurors Harry came in with, were under Humptail’s mind control and were going for the kill.

Boris and Gummy came into the picture and bailed her out, engaging them while she regained her bearings. She Stunned Gummy’s unwary opponent while Boris took out the other. Both Aurors got up slowly, too slowly. They dropped their wands, raised their arms in surrender but still in obvious confusion, which meant that Humptail let them go. Hermione Petrified Harry’s men, a sinking feeling in her gut that Humptail had moved on to someone else.

"Gummy!" Boris screamed, confirming her fears.

She saw what Humptail was making Gummy do and conjured a protective spell for Harry. Without a choice, she immobilized the Hit Wizard too.

"We have to get him out, Boris! Those two too! And I need you to keep everyone else away! We can’t afford any more surprises!"

The Russian disapproved of the plan and made it clear to her. They did anticipate it would be complicated to contain Humptail but not this complicated.

"Five minutes, then you let him go!" Boris yelled over Gummy's muffled protest and over the loud skirmish between Harry and Humptail in the background.

"Five minutes!" she repeated.

"I don't believe you!"

"I'm not arguing with you!"

Boris swore loudly but did as she asked. She would seal the courtroom shut from the inside as soon everyone was out. She and Harry would ultimately wear Humptail down. They would have to. This was their one chance to fight Humptail in isolation. She had high hopes Humptail's arrest would help them figure out their problem with Malvado. And if she and Harry couldn't do it, she doubted anyone else could.

After helping Boris get to the exit with the three men, she warded off the entire Wizengamot courtroom from the outside world. By then things had disconcertingly quieted down. She turned to look through the haze of destruction before her. The furniture previously at the centre of the courtroom had either been pushed up against the walls or vaporized by the toxic and damaging curses. Harry and Humptail were staring each other down, loading up for the next round.

Hermione joined Harry’s side.

Humptail said to her snidely,. "Not smart, Granger. You just made your death as inevitable as my escape."

“Lame, empty, unoriginal; heard that one before,” Hermione replied dismissively of the verbal threat, “Weren’t you the one trying to leave to get your Sugar Daddy? It's pretty obvious you're afraid to fight me on your own.”

Humptail flinched at her insult, “I wanted to prevent unnecessary casualties. Your deaths, on the other hand, won’t be unnecessary. Salazar will be thankful.”

Harry retorted, “To kiss his ass and make up for your fuck ups, got it. Let’s get this over with. I have other work to do.”

"Two against one? That's hardly fair."

Harry walked closer and stood right beside her to confer in private, the both of them keeping a close watch on Humptail as they did.

"He owes me. Do you mind?"

"I don't,” she replied even though Humptail owed her too, but she had to warn him, “You should know. He isn't exactly who you think he is."

She sensed Harry frown as he asked, "What do you mean?"

“It’s easier if I show you.”

“Don’t take too long.”

"I’m waiting. Flip a knut or something," Humptail suggested, pacing impatiently with his hands behind him.

Hermione and Harry parted to get into position, then she spoke to Humptail, "I do think it’s unfair but the way I see it, it's two of us against at least three of you."

That stopped Humptail in his tracks and wiped the smugness off his face. She had his attention and followed it up.

"What are you afraid of, Hosiah? Or should I call you Hector? That's what Malvado calls you, right? At first I thought he must just not care about names but then it occurred to me that Hosiah Humptail had no talent in suggestive spells. He was never bright enough to pull off what you did to Leo and what you tried to do here. Malvado knows you as someone else from someplace else, doesn't he? And we know each other from someplace else too."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Humptail denied it as she expected he would.

"The last time was St. Petersburg fourteen years ago. I don't blame you for not bringing it up. The memory of it must be embarrassing considering I did send you back into the deep dark hole from which you came from. As you can see the Exanguine laced dagger didn’t quite do me in. Is Morpheus totally gone now or is there a shell of him left in there? What about Humptail?"

By the reaction she got Hermione knew she had been right. Harry wasn't as happy as she was about that.

"Any other details I should know about?" he asked just for her to hear.

She cringed as she answered truthfully, "There could be one other tiny thing."

Humptail didn't allow her to share further information. He attacked. She put up a quick shield, absorbing the impact the same time Harry countered and hit him with a Stunner. The hex sent him soaring five rows up into the Wizengamot gallery.

They pounced on him, only to both get knocked off their feet in order to avoid a retaliatory curse. They landed very close to where they had started. Humptail was already on his feet and on the offensive again.

"Ahhhhhhh!!!!"

A battle cry pierced the air from behind. Ron's figure zoomed past between them like a blur. Humptail was stunned by his appearance from out of nowhere. She and Harry were shocked too.

"Get-your-fat-asses-off-the-floor-and-help-me-with-this-git!!!" Ron yelled at them both, peppering Humptail with a burst of Stunners to counter the Interim Minister’s curses.

They didn't have to be told twice. They were both up on their feet. Hermione summoned her other wand and conjured bindings around Humptail's ankles while Harry went for the wrists. They were shoulder to shoulder, Harry on her right, Ron on her left, the latter taking cheap pot shots at Humptail.

“How did you -? What are you doing here?!” she bit Ron’s head off as Harry wrestled with Humptail to keep him from aiming his wand properly.

“What does it bloody look like I’m doing?!” Ron argued, completely forgetting about Humptail, “And you’re bloody welcome! I saved your ass, I saved his ass, while both of you just left me in a bloody cell to rot!”

She groaned internally. Not that again. The memory suppression charm Ron got after the POTH meeting was driving her insane.

“I told you to watch Malvado's men!”

“I'm an Auror, not a Dementor!"

"That's debatable," Hermione muttered to herself, unable to resist.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Ron replied dryly, "And why would you even think I'd listen to you ever again?”

“Because bad things happen when you don’t!”

“I single-handedly put Humptail on his heels!" he took full credit, pointing over to where Harry was securing Humptail’s wrist binds, "I must say that was not only good but bloody amazing!"

If her eyeballs could roll off the top of her head they would have. Ron could sometimes be so full of it.

"And this is exactly what I've had to deal with all my life; compete with the boy-who-could-do nothing-and-still-be-fucking-amazing-just-by-breathing! I do all the work, he gets the credit!"

"There was never a competition! This is all in your head!"

"And do you really think I would stay behind for a security detail and let this fucking asshole be hero again?!”

“The profanity and insults are uncalled for!”

“How sweet, defending the traitorous bastard yet again!”

“Oh, grow up, Ron!”

“You’re telling me to grow up?! I wasn’t the one holding a torch for a married man while I made vows to marry another! I wasn’t the one sleeping with him behind my best friend’s back! And you got what in the end?! Nothing! You have nothing!”

She was furious. She wanted to say she did get something out of it. She wanted to say that even if it was brief, she was able to spend a part of her life with the love of her life, more time than many others who die never having done that at all. That and she had Hugo. Thinking through it calmed her down.

But Ron wasn’t done, “He turned his back on you! Why you still even talk to him is beyond me! I never figured you for a closet hero worshipper! Thought you were much better than that!”

Hermione realized then that Ron’s words weren’t really meant for her but to incite some reaction from Harry. Harry finally did react. He hit the Interim Minister with a sleep inducing spell and pushed Ron back to get him off her case.

“Seriously! Must you do this and right now?!”

“Who asked you?! I’m not talking to you! Does it sound like I’m talking to you?!”

“Ron!” she admonished.

“Actually, it’s quite clear that you are talking to me,” Harry put simply, evidently pissed at Ron, "Why don't you call me asshole to my face? I'll show you what kind of an asshole I really am!"

“Harry!”

Ron backed down somewhat, “Well I wasn’t talking to you! As far as I’m concerned, you forfeited your right to speak unless spoken to!”

“You’re doing it again,” Harry pointed out, infuriating Ron even more.

“I’m not!” Ron denied. “I was talking to her!”

“That wasn't talking! That was you and a version of your nobody-cares-about-me-enough speech! Poor me! Woe is me!” Harry mimicked Ron, “I'm always second best, second in line, second whatever!”

She thought the imitation, as childish as it was, amusing. Ron's behaviour was predictable but she always thought Harry would take the high road. So much for that thought.

Humptail stirred. She hexed him with another Sleeper and rechecked that the magical chains were secure. She wished Ron and Harry wouldn't argue anymore. They really had to decide what to do about Humptail and soon.

“Stay out of this!” Ron screeched at Harry, “It’s none of your business!”

“Well, I’m making it my business! You always make everything to be about you! This is not about you and you have no right to make her feel guilty!"

"I have every right to say whatever and make her feel however I want!"

"I’m not going to let you hurt her!”

It was definitely not the time or place to be feeling great about Harry standing up to Ron for her but she couldn’t help herself.

"Harry, it's fine, really -"

“I am not hurting her!" he turned to her and asked, "Am I hurting you?”

Most of his rant was out of ignorance and it was nothing she had not heard before. Ron's short sightedness was more annoying than hurtful.

She answered honestly, “No, actually, you’re not.”

“See?! She's immune to my insults! This -” Ron gesticulated, pointing his finger back and forth between them, “- is our thing! You do not interrupt us when we’re doing our thing! I never interrupt you two when you do your thing!”

“What thing?!” Harry didn’t know what Ron was talking about.

“What do you mean ‘what thing’?! You know exactly 'what thing'!”

Hermione suddenly felt a wave of something unpleasant coming towards her fast.

“Harry!”

They glanced at each other; he felt it too. Ron noticed and brightened up, triumphant over his winning the point of their argument.

“That thing! That bloody thing!”

"Ron! Block everything out!" she screamed.

She put up as much mental self-defence as she could but she was a split second too late. Excruciating, bone deep bodily pain caused all three of them to crumple onto the floor, writhing in agony. Humptail had managed to get into their heads, paralyzing and disorienting them with a Mental Cruciatus, tricking their pain sensory nerves to fire indiscriminately. On her knees, she saw Humptail gingerly picking himself up, wand in hand.

Harry saw him too and sprang forward, crashing against him. The momentum took them onto the stage. Both slowly got up and began fighting.

Hermione saw that Ron still lay beside her in agony. She fought through the crippling pain and oriented herself, finding a wand close by, crawling on all fours towards it. As she reached the wand she turned to where Harry and Humptail were. Humptail was jeering, holding a weakened Harry up by the collar with one hand, pointing a wand to his chest with the other. She heard Humptail's taunt.

"You have a lovely family, especially that little girl of yours," a disgusting grin formed on the creep's face, "I'll take care of her when you're gone."

Without warning, Harry lunged, his forehead smacking into and instantly breaking Humptail's nose. Blood gushed down the older wizard's mouth and angered him more. That broke the mind spell and dulled her pain somewhat, enough for her to focus. She was on her feet, steadying herself, aiming Harry's wand at Humptail. Humptail was too focused at Harry that he didn't notice her.

He hissed, "Who's going to save you now?!"

Harry smirked as he replied, "She will."

Humptail turned in her general direction, his eyes widening at the recognition of the spell that was about to hit him and the realization that there was no way to avoid it. The curse found the centre of Humptail's ugly face and exploded, cleaving his head into several unequal parts, soft gray matter scattered in the air behind him. His limp body fell backwards and landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

She tried to catch her breath, summoning all loose wands as she did, something she should have really done before. When she got hers she gave a silent Harry his wand back, then Petrified Humptail's remains.

Ron came up beside them. The two men exchanged perturbed looks, speechless. She forgot that neither Harry nor Ron had ever seen her do something like that.

“Was that too much?” she asked, trying to make light of the matter

“A bit,” Harry answered, clearing his throat, “Unorthodox.”

“Sorry about the mess,” she apologized, “I wanted to prove a point.”

Ron's timepiece sounded an alarm. He absentmindedly hit the snooze button to shut the ringing off.

“By blowing up the Interim Minister’s head and scattering his brains all over the Wizengamot courtroom?” her ex-husband summarized, quite distressed, “Bloody hell! Point taken! I am not going to piss you off again!”

“Not that point. This point.”

Hermione directed their attention back to the body. Pieces of Humptail’s brain reconstructed itself into his skull. The Deputy Minister opened his eyes. They were murderous red and directed at her.

“You’re going to pay for that!”

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo left Spencer and found Isa walking with purpose down the tree-lined path going back to the centre of the village.

“Isa, wait up!” he ran to where she had stopped, evidently still seething from the argument with Spencer.

“I did not start it! I swear!”

“He admitted he did. And he told me what happened. He’s a prick. You know that about him. I know that about him,” he said to her and knowing that he knew the truth calmed her down.

She sat on a nearby boulder and covered her face with her hands. She was sniffling. He sat quietly beside her, worried but unsure about what to do. Shortly after her head came up and she was more composed.

He asked her, “Are you okay?”

Isa brushed the wetness under her eyes, “Aside from a bruised ego and being pissed at myself for even considering it, I’m fine.”

“Do you like him, I mean that way?”

She vigorous shook her head, “It was a curiosity. I was wondering what all the hype was about.”

“And?”

“It was a disappointment. Curiosity satisfied,” she declared with certainty, “I am not in love with him or anything like that, if that’s what you’re asking. And I know it’s the same for him.”

Phew!

“Can you forgive him for being an idiot?”

“I wouldn’t be talking to him if I hadn’t. So just tell him to forget it happened and to stop acting like an ass about it.”

“This is Spencer we are talking about. He will always be an ass even if he tries not to be.”

“True. Remind me again why I hang out with him.”

Hugo did, “Because he’s your friend and you’re one of the few who can be kind to him in spite of himself. He needs you to keep him straight.”

That brought a smile to Isa’s face.

She asked, “How's your Mum?

"Better."

"And you?"

"I’m okay. Listen, I need your help."

She was a step ahead of him, "I hope you're not thinking of going after Malvado yourself. Your Mum, your Dad, Warren, they're going to take care of it. You know that right?"

He cringed at her mention of ‘Dad’ but decided not to correct her.

"I know but I need your help to be prepared anyway."

Hugo told Isa about the prophecy in the detail that Warren did.

"Of age,” she repeated thoughtfully, “Does that mean it won't happen until you turn seventeen?"

"I can't think Malvado will wait that long.”

“I agree,” she frowned, “And of age in these parts is not a firm number. You think the Hallows are key?”

“I can't think of any other way. I need help finding them. Warren said Mum and the POTH hid them well. I should know where they are. I should at least have ideas but I don't. Was there anything in your readings to suggest where that would be?”

"I don’t think so but I'll read through my notes again. I think the easiest way is to ask your Mum," she suggested.

"I already did that."

"And?"

"She said the Hallows, particularly the wand, should be destroyed."

Hugo told her about their long talk at Godric's Hallow, about his father and about his sister.

"I told you you were wrong about being unwanted."

He disagreed, "They didn’t plan on having me. I just happened."

"Most pregnancies are unplanned but that doesn’t mean they’re all unwanted. Your parents loved each other. If your Mum didn’t want you she could have chosen not to have you. And you were wrong about your father. He cares about your Mum."

"He left her for Aunt Ginny. He chose Aunt Ginny over her."

"Sounds like he stayed with your Aunt Ginny because he was trying to do the responsible thing,” Isa shared her opinion, “As romantic a notion it is, leaving his wife and kids to be with your Mum would have made him a loser. My father did that - he's a loser. At least your Dad isn’t."

"Sorry for bringing that up."

She shrugged, "How do you feel about your father now?"

"I guess he's okay. He's trying, maybe too hard."

"I bet you he’s glad that you exist. You should talk to him. Tell him how you feel."

"Right."

He couldn’t imagine having that conversation with him.

"Seriously. If only to tell him not to try too hard cause it's freaking you out."

Hugo was silent. Isa made it sound so simple. If it was just to tell him that, then it didn’t seem so unimaginable.

"And you should also ask him about the Hallows. You said the Hag told him how to find them. Maybe he wants to and will be more open about it than your Mum. Just promise me you’re not going to go looking for Malvado once you have them.”

"I think I'm smarter than that.”

At least he wouldn’t do something that stupid right away. On the one hand he couldn't lose them but on the other hand he couldn't play not to lose. He'll have to make a decision once he had that decision to make.

"You'll also have problems with the POTH once you get them,” Isa reminded him, “The POTH will want them back."

She was right, of course. This Hallows business was complicated.

"Unless-" she had an idea.

"Unless what?"

"You do what your Mum did."

"Get them to think they still have it?"

He doubted very much that he could pull that off.

"Well, it's an option."

XXXXXXXXXX

Back at the Ministry…

"Looking forward to it," was Hermione's reply to Humptail's threat.

Harry heard Ron swear again.

Hermione conjured a prohibitive magical ward around Humptail's head, to protect them from further mental attacks. That would prevent them from looking into his thoughts too but Harry figured that risk wasn't worth taking anyway. Humptail was, after all, part Morpheus Gaunt and it was best not to underestimate the mind games he was capable of.

"He has a stone too?" Harry had to confirm.

"That was the other thing I wanted to tell you. I wasn't certain until now."

"Whoa! Back up a bit! What the fuck is going on?!"

Harry answered his question, "Humptail's body was taken over by a Being with an Invincibility stone."

"A what?!"

"An invincibility stone," Humptail calmly added, "Can't break me. Can't kill me. You should be afraid. Malvado has one too."

Ron's alarm rang again; he abruptly turned it off again.

"That's just not right," Ron relayed the obvious, "What are you waiting for? Take it from him."

"It's not that easy," Hermione told him.

Humptail laughed out loud.

He said to Ron, "I'll give it to you if you make an Unbreakable Vow to ingest it Interested in eternal life?"

"No thanks," Ron declined, "I gave up eating stones a while back."

"Pity. What about you, Potter? Want to save that bastard son of yours? You'll need my stone to go up against Salazar's."

Harry didn't dignify the question with an answer.

"You're no fun, Potter. Tell you what, Granger," Humptail proposed, "You show me yours, I'll show you mine, baby."

Hermione surprisingly wanted to play. She dug into her cloak pocket with her left hand and pulled out a worn out Snitch. Harry could only think it was THE worn out Snitch Neville found and eventually lost, and that the stone Humptail was referring to as hers, the Resurrection stone, was inside it.

"Open it," Humptail urged, "I want to see."

"You show me yours, I'll show you mine," Hermione reminded him.

"Under my shirt," he smiled haughtily.

Harry stepped in for her, "Let me."

He tore Humptail's top off. Their eyes immediately came upon the transparent skin over his chest. Just behind his beating heart, in a small anterior pouch within the food pipe, was a circular object the size of a chestnut.

Humptail ended the show, turning his skin back to normal and demanded, "You've ogled enough. Your turn."

Hermione made a show of effort to break the Snitch in half and then told Humptail, "Oh right. I remember now. I can't open it. Sorry."

"Dammit, I keep forgetting you play dirty. Is the stone even inside it?"

Hermione jiggled the Snitch and something in it rattled.

Humptail was unconvinced, "I still think it's a decoy. But you do have the Hallows somewhere on you. You've had them all along. Curious, you're not using the wand and I don't sense the cloak. Salazar and I are completely baffled how you hide them so well. Are the Hallows a part of you now just like the stones are a part of us? Where on you do you keep them? I imagine a few places on you I wouldn't mind feeling my way around in."

There was obvious mischief going on in his head just to rile up both Ron and Harry and he succeeded. Ron was unable to control himself. He conjured a magical boot to kick Humptail in his thawed out bits.

"Keep your filthy mind to yourself, asshole!"

“Oomph!”

"Excellent theory, though," Hermione complimented him.

"Thank you," Humptail squeaked, unable to relieve the pain of Ron's curse.

Harry didn't like it that Hermione was leading Humptail to believe she still had use of all three. He'd have to talk to her about that.

"What do we do with him now?" Ron asked Hermione.

"The Ministry will have to deal with him."

Her answer to that took him and Ron by surprise.

Humptail didn't expect it either, "Nice bluff. You expect me to believe that you would actually trust someone else to do the right thing with me?"

"I trust the Ministry," she said, looking Harry in the eye as she did, "At least until it finds a replacement for the Interim Minister."

Hermione just made Harry realize that the Interim Minister was now him.

Humptail scoffed, "No Ministry can keep me locked up, especially not one run by a 12 year old kid."

"Then you have nothing to be worried about," Ron reasoned, "So shut the fuck up!"

"Twelve year old Minister and his 12 year old side kick. Hilarious - "

Ron silenced him and laughed as Humptail got angry.

"No, this is hilarious."

Ron had simple pleasures. Hermione was looking on as amused and he could tell she was thinking the same thing.

"I have to go," she told him, out of Humptail's and Ron's earshot, "The interrogation needs to be official and by the book. You can't lose him on a technicality."

Harry understood. She wasn't on the case and he sensed she preferred not to be officially on it.

"Malvado's assassins will collaborate that Humptail works with Malvado. They will also give information about what this is about."

"I'll need a statement from you at some point."

He didn't really. He could make one up and tell her he did. He wasn't exactly sure why he told her that.

"You know how to find me."

That was through Warren.

"Not like I used to."

"Careful. You're beginning to sound like Ron."

"I'm beginning to feel like him," he said before he could vet the thought. He instantly regretted saying it, "Sorry. Totally inappropriate."

Hermione got sidetracked by his comment.

"Um, where was I?" she paused, shut her eyes and shook her head to refocus, "We have to um- find out who this character in Humptail is and how he's connected to Malvado. You'll need help during interrogation, to summon informers from the remote past."

She held out the Snitch in her hand, replicated it and put the duplicate in her cloak pocket.

"It's a loaner," she made clear as he took the original, "You can't open it."

"Not even at the close? That’s disappointing," he deadpanned, “Can the Keeper open it?"

"I don’t know."

She was telling the truth about that.

"But you can still use it,” she informed him, “The only power the Snitch suppresses is its magical bond with the rest."

"So, even if someone had all three, the Snitch will prevent complete unification of the Hallows."

"That was its main purpose."

"Good to know."

"My preference is to keep the stone's use off the record. It would look really bad on me if some people were to realize I don’t have it."

"I'll find a way," he assured her, "When do you need it back?"

"As soon as you’re done with it.”

Curious about her evident discomfort, he tested, "How much trouble will I get into if I unite the Hallows?"

"Not in any more trouble than you would have to be to decide to unite them."

Their eyes locked, his probing and hers asking him not ask her any more questions. Her replies remained to be cryptic and indirect but while she strongly discouraged Warren to go after the Hallows here she was 'lending' one to him for use. He also didn't get any indication from her not to look for the rest. Did she want him to find them?

The Hag had suggested to read the book.

Ron's alarm sounded off in the background again. His friend muttered something harsh about being kept out of the loop. They both ignored it but Harry lost another opportunity to ask her about the book.

“I’ll see you later,” she said to him.

He nodded thinking that later wasn't soon enough.

XXXXXXXXXX

Al sat in the shadows with a few male being friends he had made in the day that he had spent in Pag-asa. A few seats down the long table he caught a glimpse of Isa who was hanging out with Rosie and the local girls. His heart thumped loudly against his chest in a slow cadence, bothered by how much he sucked during their first meeting and thinking about the many different ways to make up for it. He had never had to impress a girl before and he really didn't know how.

The village centre had been transformed. Upbeat music blared from all around them it was amazing they could still keep a conversation going. He was quite impressed that many of them spoke English well enough and they were eager to not make him or Rosie feel left out.

It was dusk and they were waiting for the feast to begin. The boys were talking about their wands and bragging about the cool things they could do with it. The girls, from what he could hear (not that he was eavesdropping), were talking about movies and the losers, um, actors, who acted in them. There was the usually giggling involved but he noticed, not that he was watching her, not Isa. Isa didn't giggle, at least not like the others. She smiled, she laughed demurely, she made comments and suggestions. Her voice was just sweet, not fake sweet, not overly sweet, just the right amount of sweetness that spoke to him of an innate kindness and mellowness he had not noticed in any other girl or woman before.

One of the beings, Marco, said to him, "Okay man. I can't stand it anymore. Which chick is it?"

"What?"

"You're drooling all over the place, man, ruining my borrowed barong. Unless it's a medical condition, it's got to be some chick."

"Her," he motioned over to where Isa was seated then looking away as if he did something bad.

"Ew!" Marco reacted, "What's wrong with your eyes man? Of all the girls in the village, you get the hots for the butt ugliest one."

"Hope it's not true love," Juan chimed in.

"What?" he looked up abruptly and saw that a half giant sat right beside Isa. He had to clarify, "No, no, not her. Her."

"Okay, there's no one there but Caridad. The heat must have gotten to you."

Tomas, who was beside him, helped out, "You dimwits. He means the girl behind Caridad. I heard her name is Isa."

"Oh that girl," Marco was relieved, "Now we're talking!"

"I like her too," Juan admitted.

Marco cut him off, "You're out of control man. You like everyone. She goes to school, she's too smart, she's way out of our league. But Al here, has a great chance."

Al got very hopeful, "How do you figure that?"

"Local chicks dig white boys," Marco said knowingly.

"Really?"

"Of course they do."

"It'll be a lock."

"Trust us on this, man. We know local chicks."

"Okay," Al took their word for it.

"So, what are you waiting for? Go!"

"Go where?"

"Talk to her. Show her your 'love'", Marco said the last part like it meant something else to them.

The boys laughed and gave each other high fives.

Juan added, “Then she can show you her ‘love’.”

More boisterous amusement and high fives followed. Al took a big breath in and out, and decided to take a leap at the risk of losing his cool factor.

"Need help with that. I've never really had to talk to a girl that way before," he confessed, holding his breath.

There was absolute silence as they stared at him like he had three heads, then another burst of laughter.

"You got us there, man!"

"Seriously funny!"

"Never talked to a girl before!"

Al groaned. They didn't believe him.

"Seriously guys. I haven't felt anything like this," he had to talk louder and then softer when he saw that they were now drawing the curiosity of the girls on the other end of the table.

When the boys realized he was not kidding they quieted down a bit but gave him a hard time.

"How could you not, man?"

"All the girls in your school ugly, or something?"

Marco, the leader of the bunch, reined the other two in.

"Come on guys. The man is in obvious agony here. Have a little sympathy. We all had our firsts and remember how bad it was for us.”

“Barely,” Juan was still joshing, “It was so long ago.”

“Shut up,” Marco scolded him good naturedly, “Al needs our help. And we will help him. First, let’s see what we‘re working with.”

They were all looking at him again, making him very uncomfortable.

“How serious are you about getting her to like you?” Marco asked.

“Very.”

Tomas’ turn, “More important than losing your pride and dignity?”

Thinking about what he was doing presently, assessed, “I think I already lost both.”

“Excellent! We can do a full blown traditional 1900s courtship! No girl nowadays can refuse someone who does that.”

Al swallowed the lump in his throat.

“What exactly does this entail?” he asked.

“A harana,” Marco laid it out for him.

“A ha-ra-na?”

Tomas interpreted, “A serenade. I have a guitar. Got any good love songs in mind?”

“I don’t sing very well.”

Juan reassured him, “Doesn’t matter. It’s the attempt that counts.”

Marco continued, “Is there binalaybay tonight?”

“There is, actually. Great idea!”

Al was getting nervous.

Tomas explained, “That’s a public rendition of personally composed poetry professing how one feels. You do it later tonight during the program.”

“Best if you say it in our language. It will impress her more. Write down what you want to say and Tomas here will take care of the rest.”

“I’m not a very confident public speaker.”

Juan patted him on the back, “A couple of swigs of Red Thestral will take care of that.”

They rattled off.

“You’re going to offer to carry stuff for her at every opportunity.”

“Fetch stuff for her.”

“Do stuff for her.”

“Do stuff for her family.”

“Do stuff for her friends.”

“Like carry her one hundred fifty pound best friend across a field full of carabao shit because her friend said so,” Juan offered bitterly, “Sorry. Bad example.”

“You give her gifts, flowers are the best.”

“If she’s not allergic to them.”

“You can conjure flowers.”

“She’s a Squib, you ass. She’ll think he’s a show off.”

“No conjuring anything,” Juan took his previous advice back.

“In other words do everything to show her, her friends and her folks what a helpful, nice young man you are.”

“So they’ll trust you.”

“So she’ll trust you.”

“Then you get her ‘love’”.

There was sniggering again. It was only a matter of time really.

“But there is one thing that you should never do and it’s the hardest thing to do,” Marco said gravely.

“What’s that?” Al was curious.

“Do not touch any part of her without her expressed consent.”

Tomas emphasized, “No touching, no kissing, no brushing against any part of her.”

Juan warned, “And try not to raise the bamboo until she’s ready. I made that mistake.”

Al’s head was spinning. His insides were swirling.

“I don’t know if I can do this, guys.”

“You want the local intellectual chick in a bad way, don’t you?” Marco confirmed.

“Well, yes, but –“

“Well this is what it’ll take.”

“Trust us.”

“No guts, no glory.”

He took a breath in and nodded bravely.

“Great!” Marco announced, “But first thing’s first. Juan, scout.”

Juan edged over to the girls’ side of the table and whispered something to the elf seated closest to them. The girl whispered to the next girl and the next, and down the table until it got to Isa. Isa shook her head, saying something back to the person beside her, who whispered it back to the next and the next. Juan got the message and, with a wide grin, gave them the thumbs up sign.

“We’re a go,” Tomas slapped him on the back again, “She’s available.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Hope everybody is having a great summer.

61. Timeteller Troubles

A/N. I hope you still remember the story and don’t completely hate me. It’s been a stressful time with RL stuff and the muse keeps fleeting in and out of my life. Much thanks to the reviews and encouragement.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 61 – Timeteller Troubles

Harry sifted through the mist of the non-living who responded to the call of the Resurrection Stone. There were many, most of them angry, most of them wronged, and there would be no shortage of information from those who were seeking justice. But while it was important to give those victimized the resolution they had come for, it was vital to remain focussed on the goal of finding out what kind of being they were dealing with. He had enlisted his most trusted Aurors to assist in the interrogation.

His name is Hector Llamas.

I knew his family, politicians, the entire lot. His grandfather was Minister of Magic of Peru, lived a long time that one, much longer than one would expect even a pureblood wizard to live. Hector was a senator in the Muggle government.

I was stupid and foolish. I took the stone at his deathbed, he said so I could live as long as he had and even longer if I chose to. Once he took over my body, he got rid of me.

Nobody knows exactly how they met. Malvado must have known Llamas’ grandfather and their paths have criss-crossed many times in history. Theirs had always been a mutually benefitting one. Malvado was chaos to Llamas' order. They enabled the other to succeed and remain in the world of the living, recognizing that it’s big enough for both of them.

I was there when Llamas spoke with Gaunt in February 2003. Gaunt was on the run then and hiding out in St. Petersburg. It was Llamas who told him about the rest of the Hallows. Llamas offered him use of the invincibility stone, told him it was the only way he could acquire what was rightfully his.

You have to understand, they choose the essences they acquire. Each stone transfer into another living being is an act of violence, an attack with the intention to occupy, to take over and to steal. Imagine two beings fighting over the use of one body. With Gaunt, Llamas took on a powerful wizard to become more powerful at the risk of losing himself. He almost did and in the internal struggle they both got sent to the other realm. But Llamas found a way back and his risk has paid off big time.

Harry found him. Gaunt was observing the proceedings with amusement, the haughty display enough to remind Harry of what Gaunt had cost him and Hermione. It took a while but he did regain composure, knowing that there was nothing he could do to change what happened, much less avenge their loss.

“Potter,” Gaunt greeted with a smug grin as Harry approached, “Thank you for giving me a break from the mundane. This is entertaining, to say the least. I see you’re still as stupid as you’ve always been.”

“What makes you say that?”

“None of these fools can help you get rid of the Invincibles.”

Actually, they already gave him a couple of options but he hoped Gaunt would confirm. Harry decided to play along.

“I suppose you know.”

“Of course, I do. But I am not inclined to help you.”

“That’s too bad. You came all this way to gloat about how smart you are and can’t prove it,” Harry pointed out. Gaunt was obviously annoyed at his remark. Harry pressed on, “It is a pain being dead, powerless to stop the being who stole your talent from using it for personal gain. Tell me something. How could you, with your unusual mental capabilities, get hoodwinked into taking the stone? Didn’t see it coming?”

Gaunt responded, quite worked up, “I did. And for a while I had Llamas exactly where I wanted him. If not for Granger, I would be here in this world, living free and certainly not wasting my time in the Ministry lock-up like he is.”

“I’m sure you would have fared better,” Harry replied, getting the confirmation he wanted.

He broke eye contact to walk away. Gaunt quickly tried to regain his attention.

“The solution is obvious,” Gaunt called out.

“It is?”

“And Granger should realise it by now. There is no other way. The Hallows have to unite,” Gaunt opened up eagerly, perhaps taking the opportunity to prove he knew what he was talking about and maybe do the little that he could to exact revenge, “Death’s Master is not bound by the contracts Death enters into. The Invincibility Stones will be no match for the Hallows provided they are wielded by a skilled master. Llamas should be easy.”

“And Malvado?”

“Malvado is a different being of sorts.”

“How so?”

Gaunt explained, “Years ago, he approached me with a proposition. He said he could take me with him on his next trip back to the world of the living. Having been burned by an Invincible before I graciously declined. But rumour has it that he made a couple of interesting alliances and that when he escaped, he travelled with so much excess baggage he collapsed the portal and almost didn’t make it through.”

The dead wizard paused for effect, studying Harry’s face, hoping to read his mind.

“You’re not afraid,” Gaunt stated a fact, ”You should be. I can’t imagine any truce between him and the two greatest wizards of all time lasting this long.”

“I thought I retired your Uncle for good.”

“There isn’t much to do in the afterlife except suffer for all of eternity. He’s bored.”

“And Grindelwald?”

“He’s bored too. Most of us are.”

Gaunt left him with more food for thought.

“Whoever Malvado is now he possesses an unlimited arsenal of dark power never known to exist within a singular being before. Even the Master of Death would find it near impossible to beat someone like that, especially someone that powerful protected by an invincibility stone.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Marco rejoined them in their mini-huddle.

"There are eleven participants," he told Al, "You're 7th, I made sure you got a spot in between two really lousy ones."

"So no one would listen?" Al asked, nervous about speaking up in front of the local crowd.

Tomas corrected him, "No, it's so you'll sound way much better than the rest."

"Or not seem as bad as you are," Juan couldn't stop chuckling.

Al blushed. He had been working with Tomas and Juan and things weren't going well.

"He's not bad. He just needs practise," Tomas defended him. "And we need to tweak the words a bit."

"Leave it the way it is," Juan replied, "At least he'll be very amusing when he gets up on the stage to perform."

"Juan is right," Al said, his confidence wavering, "Maybe I should just withdraw."

"What are you guys talking about?" Marco asked, "Show me what you have so far."

"Watch this," Juan was primed to laugh again.

Al began speaking, having no problem saying the foreign words from memory but not knowing the exact meaning he sounded like a broken robot.

And there was another thing. Every time he got to this certain passage his wand lit up on its own. Juan couldn't help it anymore. He was doubled up, tears streaming down his face. Even Tomas was no longer immune but a poker face Marco commented.

"Which word is it?"

"Lumos," Tomas told Marco what was setting his wand off, "Can't find another way to say 'he's drowning in the depth of her beauty'."

"I'm hopeless," Al declared.

Marco had an idea. "Forget English completely. Say it as you hear it, not as you read it. Try ‘lost’ instead of ‘drowning’."

Marco gave him the word for lost and Al changed it on the paper before him, repeating what he just heard. That was much better.

Juan pointed out, "Try not to sound like an American."

"I'm British," he snapped, insulted.

Juan shrugged, really not knowing, "Is there a difference?"

"Excuse his ignorance," Tomas apologized for Juan, "He cut Geography class a lot."

"Sound less like one," Marco encouraged him, "And more practice. You've got a couple of hours. You'll be just fine."

"Yeah, we've got lots of time. You can do this," Tomas assured him.

He sighed. An announcement that dinner was ready interrupted them. He instantly noticed that Isa had gotten up with the rest of the girls and were heading for the buffet tables.

"Here's your chance!" Marco nudged him.

"What?"

"Your chance to get a better seat."

He followed Marco and the other boys towards the food. Marco told him exactly what to do. They finally got up to the line where the girls were and, with the help of some very good diversionary maneuvers by his new friends, he found his way right behind Isa. Then he panicked. How was he supposed to practise if he was going to sit with her during dinner?

She turned and he wasn't quite prepared to see her looking at him this close.

"Hi," she greeted first as he scrambled to find his voice.

"Hi."

Merlin, here I go again.

She was about to turn around to find the other girls. Hastily, Al took a couple of gulps and mustered up the courage to strike a conversation.

“How did you know?”

“I’m sorry?” she asked, puzzled, her hazel eyes boring deep into him; he was melting.

“Er, um, who I was. How did you know?”

“Hugo told me he had an older brother who looks like him. You look like him. I took a ‘wild guess’.”

She smiled, the way she said ‘wild guess’ was a joke. He laughed, loud, too loud. She blushed.

“It wasn’t that funny but thanks.”

Isa laughed lightly, embarrassed. He did too as he apologized. By then, he could feel his heart in his throat.

"I'm glad we're finally eating," Isa said to him privately, handing him a paper plate. She smelled of something wonderful as she leaned closer, "I'm kind of famished."

"Yeah. Me too," he replied, trying to steady his breathing.

He wasn't paying much attention to what he was doing, following mostly Isa's lead, mindlessly moving food. A skewer of something, thin noodles, vegetables, rice cake, then a couple of spoonfuls of some kind of meat cooked in a dark curd-like sauce. Isa noticed.

"You're either brave or really hungry. Most non-locals stay away from human entrails cooked in blood."

Al stopped, quite concerned about having to eat this in front of her just to save face. Just the thought of it made him nauseous.

Isa hurriedly took back what she said, "It's a joke. I'm kidding. It's animal meat. The hosts wouldn't serve us humans with humans."

"Of course they wouldn't," he replied a bit relieved though looking at it again he wasn't sure.

Their eyes met and she must have read his mind. His doubt rubbed off on her.

"On the other hand," she said to him as she checked around, "Cover me."

She took both their plates and emptied that portion surreptitiously, hiding the evidence under and behind the overhanging table cloth. They moved forward quickly, had a laugh about that one and then continued down the line, picking 'safe' food from the buffet. Al remembered something.

He held out a hand and said to her, "Let me help you."

She frowned and enquired, "Why?"

He didn't expect the question and had no sensible answer.

"It must be um - heavy."

Isa lifted the plate in her hand without effort and politely turned him down, "I think I can handle this one."

Once again, proof to her that he was a moron. She excused herself when Hugo and Spencer came and whisked her away, with perhaps his chance of ever redeeming himself.

"It figures," Rosie said knowingly, with amusement in her voice as she reached for a piece of roasted chicken in front of him.

Al groaned internally, realizing his cousin had been behind them all along and heard the entire thing as it unravelled. Al prepared himself for the worst.

"What?"

"That you'd be just like Uncle Harry."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"His very first serious crush was on an Asian girl with long black hair. It must be a Potter thing," she concluded.

Al didn't know this about his Dad and it was kind of surprising. He always thought that his parents were school sweethearts and assumed they were each others' firsts.

"How do you know this?"

Rosie shrugged, "Girl talk. She was a Ravenclaw Seeker back during our parents’ time."

Al knew who she was referring to.

"Cho Chang?"

"That's the one. I must say this is a relief. I was really starting to worry about you. Isa is nice. I approve."

"I wasn't looking for your approval."

"Of course not. I approve anyway. I am slighted though that you're not asking for advice. Do you honestly trust these local boys to know how to woo a girl? They can't even do it for themselves."

They both observed his new friends stumble in their own attempts at getting girls to talk to them. One of them just got slapped. Rosie was right. He really didn't know if Marco, Tomas and Juan knew what they were talking about.

Rosie continued, "I am insulted, yes, but willing to forgive you. As amusing as it is it's so painful to watch my own flesh and blood strike out twice in a matter of hours."

Al swallowed his pride and gave in, "I could use a different perspective."

"You know I know what I'll be talking about."

"I am desperate here. If you're waiting for me to grovel this is me grovelling," he said though his tone was more matter-of-fact than begging.

"It's simple really. Just be yourself."

Hugo sighed in exasperation, saying, "And I thought you were going to help."

But Rosie wasn't pulling his leg.

"If you're serious about this girl then you'd want to let her see the real you because she'll find out sooner or later who you really are. This way if she doesn't like the real you then you know right away that it won't ever work out.

"On the other hand if you just want a quickie one night thingy, and there's nothing wrong with that if that's what you want, then by all means, impress her with whatever you think will get you what you want the quickest."

She had a good point.

"It's scary how that brilliant insight actually came from you."

"Watch it, I can still hurt you," she threatened, finger pointed.

"Thanks," Al said earnestly, feeling much better about it all, knowing now what to do

"You're welcome. It's all about me, really. I wouldn't be able to stand the depressing look on your face when you lose your chance with her. Then I'd have to listen to you cry 'where oh where did I go wrong?!"

"Okay. I get it. I'll try my best not to screw this up."

"You better not screw this up. I'm rooting for you. And I'm so proud! ” she put her plate down, grabbed him dramatically by the shoulders and hugged him, “My cousin, Al, finally has a crush! He's all grown up now! I think I'm gonna cry!"

"Funny," he commented on her histrionics dryly, looking around and hoping nobody was witnessing this.

She laughed and made her way back to the other girls but not before making a mischievous parting comment, "I just thought I'd let you know; Cho Chang was not only Uncle Harry's first crush, she was also his first kiss."

Really?

XXXXXXXXXX

"Auror Lupin," the Head Auror's assistant interrupted him as he paced across the span of the sitting room, "If you must do that please do so in the corridor. You are driving me spare."

Ted sat down, his legs and hands fidgeting. He had been waiting for fifteen minutes and hanging on to the information for more than a couple of hours before that. He had gone to Shell Cottage to see Tory and had spent some time there making sure security was as it should be but if he had to wait any longer to tell Harry what happened when he followed Gummy earlier he would explode.

The door to the Head Auror's office swung open and the Chief Warlock, Tiberius Tudor, was the first one out. He was immediately followed by the Wizengamot appointed Interim MoM.

"Harry," Tiberius Tudor shook his hand, "As much as many of us at the Wizengamot are quite comfortable having you at the helm for a longer time I understand your desire to hand over these new responsibilities quickly. I will do my best to get the process underway sooner."

"My family and I would greatly appreciate it," Harry replied, then turned to Leila Gennaro who had quill and parchment in hand, poised for orders, "Leila. Rescind all of Humptail's appointments. Tell them to talk to me if they have a problem. Send out owls to Leo's last heads of offices, with an invitation to re-assume their past positions. I wish to meet with them in an hour.”

“You should address the public," Tudor suggested.

Harry's reluctance was evident, "I'm only Interim Minister because the Wizengamot reversed my termination."

"Unanimously," Tudor reminded him, "Trussell should have never been appointed Head Auror. There is much uncertainty out there. You need to stabilize the situation, to restore the people's faith in the Ministry and to regain their trust in the Wizengamot. You have to address the public if only to calm them down."

That swayed Harry's earlier decision. He instructed Leila to set something up with Leo's press and public relations secretary for sometime after his emergency cabinet meeting. The Chief Warlock excused himself, saying something about having his work cut out for him, nodding at Ted on his way out.

Leila said, "A few important people have asked for an audience. Should I schedule them?"

Harry looked at her list and gave them back to her.

"They can save the ass-kissing for the next Minister," he said to her, and when her brows raised, rephrased, "I would be delighted to meet with them once the Ministry addresses the current threat from Salazar Malvado."

"Much better," Gennaro scribbled what he said, then relayed another message, "Auror Weasley says he needs to speak with you right away. He’s in Unspeakable Boots' lab."

"I’ll give him a call. Is there anything else?"

Ted thought she had forgotten about him. He cleared his throat to draw their attention.

"Auror Lupin has been here pacing for a long time," her tone was somewhat short-tempered., "if you don't see him now I may have to put new carpeting in."

Harry motioned him to enter the office. His assistant's disapproving scrutiny made Ted more nervous that he knocked over a magazine rack on his way into Harry's office and a cascade of periodicals spilled on the floor.

"Go," she instructed him as he made an effort to gather them up, "I'll take care of this."

Ted went into the Head Auror office and didn't even wait for Harry to speak. He burst out with information the second Harry closed the door.

"I met the rest of the POTH!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Al went on to grab himself a drink, thinking about the prospect of him achieving the same thing with Isa. He had not even thought past getting her to have a real conversation with him but now that Rosie mentioned it, he couldn't help picturing them snogging and thinking just how amazing that would feel. No, he wouldn't rush. Isa was not the type of girl one would rush and it wouldn't be the way he imagined his first would be.

His thoughts preoccupied he turned to go back to his seat when he saw someone right in front of him. He put the brakes on and stopped himself from crashing into the other person. The other person had stopped in time too and their near collision almost cost him his dinner. His drink wasn't so lucky though.

"I'm so sorry!" Isa apologized, quite upset about causing the near accident, "I shouldn't have followed too closely!"

"It's quite all right," he quickly dismissed, shaking off his right shoe to get rid of the spilt melon juice, "I was thinking about - um – I was a bit distracted too. No harm done."

"Let me get you another drink," she offered and took two cups of the fruit drink but didn't give one to him. She asked instead, "Where are you sitting?"

He assumed she wanted to bring it over to his table. He looked and saw that his seat was occupied.

"I think I've just lost my spot. Anywhere I guess."

It was an eternity before Isa ended his torment.

"There's room at our table."

His move, he figured.

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not."

He followed her, trying so hard not to break out into a wide grin. Rosie gave him a wink when he passed by her. His step had more of a bounce to it until they got closer to her table and he was welcomed by not so warm reactions from Hugo and Spencer.

"I invited Albus," Isa said his name perfectly, choosing to ignore how icy things just got, "He lost his seat."

Isa sat beside Hugo, handing Al his drink as she did. Al took the empty seat across his brother, who hadn't acknowledged his presence at all. What Al did see was the questioning look he gave Isa. This was followed by a barely audible reply from her which sounded something like, "He's your brother."

"Isa is a bleeding heart," Spencer, who was on his right, commented, "She always picks up strays."

Al was sure it was meant to insult.

Isa glossed it over, "Spencer knows this because he is one."

Hugo shook off Spencer as the latter was poised to retort. Both boys went back to eating, talking about Malvado as they did.

Isa asked him what he thought of Pag-asa. They talked about the beings in the village, about how interesting the half bodied ones were and about how different yet similar many of them were compared to the ones he grew up with. Isa, he found out, was brought up in a mostly Muggle environment and up until recently, she always thought that stories about magical beings were mere tall tales meant to scare kids.

Al found it surprisingly easy to talk with her. As they ate he found out more about who she was, quite happy that Hugo and Spencer seemed to be engrossed in a conversation of their own Although her parents were both Pureblood, her Mum was a Squib too. She didn't explicitly say it but Al gathered her father was not in the picture. Her mother remarried a Muggle, but when the Integrated school for magicals and non-magicals opened, she told Isa about magic and gave her the opportunity to see if the school was something she'd like or not.

Isa had not planned on staying, particularly after the wand thing didn't do much for her, but then she fell in love with the science and gadgetry side of things. She viewed magic as energy that could be shaped and moulded and that field of study was virtually new. That was what made her stay and he could tell from how she talked about it that it was her passion.

"What about you?" she asked and when he didn't answer right away she put him on the spot, "You have me talking on and on. You haven't said anything about yourself."

"There's nothing interesting about me," Al heard himself answer.

"You're humble if not totally self deprecating. For a guy with famous parents I think that's interesting," she said, speaking her mind that it took him off guard, “What does a girl have to do to get you to talk?”

He blushed and caved, "James is the brawn, the popular jock, captain of the Quidditch team. My sister, Lily, is the brain, always top of her class. I'm average, okay, maybe above average."

"What do you like to do, when you're not running off without your parents' knowledge to some remote part of the world, teaching beings how to use magic?"

Al shrugged, "Hang out, read."

"What do you read?"

"You're going to laugh," Al said, stabbing at something on his plate, beginning to regret leading her to their current topic.

"As long as you're not into romance fiction -," she stopped abruptly, checking herself, "I'm sorry but you're not into romance novels, are you?"

He had to smile at her concern about offending him, "No, not that. History, psychology, sociology, philosophy, really boring stuff."

"I don't think those are boring," she tried to make him feel better.

"When was the last time you picked up Friedrich Nietzsche and read him cover to cover in one sitting?"

Isa frowned, probably wondering if he was telling the truth or not.

"Okay, if you've done that then you're strange and unlike any other teenager I know-" she conceded, quickly adding, "-but in a good way - I hope,” her uncertainly made him laugh, “I heard you're some sort of school monitor?"

She heard?

"A prefect."

"And you were chosen for that. Your teachers must see something in you they don't see in others."

"I was chosen by process of elimination. I'm one of the few students who don't break school rules."

"Why not?"

"Never had reason to," he answered truthfully.

"Really? No staying out and wandering the hallways after lights out, meeting up with friends or girlfriends?"

"Nope,” Al noted her curiosity and felt amazing that she asked, “You?"

"My friends are a bad influence."

Spencer overheard and objected, "Whoa! That is a flat out lie. She was the one who planned our educational leave of absence from the IMAN to help Hugo escape from your Dad's house."

"That was out of necessity," Isa defended herself. "You do it for sport."

Spencer proclaimed, "And I still have the best record in the entire school - thirty consecutive undetected qualified acts of mischief. I am king!"

"See what I have to deal with?" Isa rolled her eyes in exasperation, "All right, King. Help me grab desserts."

Isa got up and Al got up too.

"I'll come with you," he said to her.

Spencer seemed fine with Al's offer, "Yeah, I can stay-"

"No, really, Spencer can help me," she insisted, grabbing Spencer by the arm with a death grip he winced, "You just sit here with Hugo. We'll be right back."

With Isa and Spencer gone things got quiet immediately. There was some commotion at the stage as the locals were about to start the show. That distracted both of them for a bit. Al couldn't take the silence anymore.

"Did you want to tell me something?" Al asked.

"No," Hugo replied, "You?"

"No."

There was an awkward pause again then Hugo spoke, "There is something. Thanks for not letting Rosie leave the Pitch on her own."

"I didn't do it for you."

"No, of course not. You wouldn't be caught dead doing something like that."

"That's not what I meant."

But Hugo wasn't hearing him and it was obvious in the caustic reply he got, "You don't have to talk to me. We may be half-brothers but we don't have to be friends."

Al wanted to reach out but his pride kept him from doing so. He felt a weight pulling him back, seeing his face on his brother or more accurately, his father's face. Hugo looked more like his Dad than he did and there was something very unsettling about that. Did Hugo think that he was better than them, that he was more their father's son because they looked more alike?

"What are you gawking at?" Hugo suddenly burst out angrily.

"I wasn't gawking!" Al denied.

Isa and Spencer happened to come back at that very moment.

She asked, "What's going on?"

Hugo confronted him, "Didn't your mother ever teach you it's impolite to stare?!"

The accusation incensed Al instantly. He just snapped.

"Actually she did! She also taught me not to lie and not to steal, which is way much more than what I can say about your mother!" he insulted Hugo back.

"Are you calling my mother a thief?!"

"And a liar!"

Both were on their feet. Spencer was ready to hit him for Hugo. Isa was the intervening calming voice.

"Put your wands away!" she ordered them both, "I'm sure your mothers wouldn't approve if you got into a fight because of them!"

Al backed down first, already feeling bad about saying his thoughts out loud. Aunt Hermione, looking back, had never been anything but good to him. She didn't deserve to be called that, even if a part of him believed it to be true.

His brother, he could tell, still wasn't quite ready to let go of what he said. Isa seemed to know just what to say. Al didn't hear it but whatever it was Hugo calmed down, enough to even apologize.

"I'm sorry," his brother mumbled, perhaps not very sincere but at least he did.

"I'm sorry, too," Al replied.

"Just don't stare."

He wasn't but really, it wasn't worth another argument.

"Got it."

Hugo left their table. Spencer followed him. Al figured Isa would want to follow him too.

"You should go," Al said to her.

Isa ignored his suggestion.

"He didn't mean to insult your mother," she explained.

"I shouldn't be saying this because he's your friend but he acts as if he's better than me because he looks more like Dad."

"You misunderstand. He doesn't like the way he looks. He's still trying to get used to people comparing him to your father. You know how annoying that is, right?" Isa enlightened him, "And he's pretty sure all of you hate him for being who he is."

"That's rubbish! We don't hate him," Al quickly dismissed.

"So I keep telling him but he doesn't believe me. He needs to hear it from you. He needs to hear it from your brother and from your sister."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry thanked Ted for the information and asked him to remain at Shell Cottage. From Ted's sdescription of the events it was evident that Hermione allowed Ted to follow them and to listen in. She must have suspected too that complete Obliviation of a Metamorph would be tricky when the events to be wiped off were acquired in different physical states. It was reassuring to know that even though she couldn't tell him herself because of the POTH-related vows she took, she did find a way to get him the information.

He barely had time to process what Ted had uncovered when an anxious Ron barged into his office and shut the door behind him. Ron’s timeteller was giving off a high pitched alarm.

“Blasted timeteller!” Ron cursed, turned it off then faced him, “We need to talk about Hermione!”

“Now?!”

"Oh yes! Definitely now!"

Ron’s bad timing was intensely irritating. And so was his timeteller. It went off again.

“Can you not take care of that?!”

“That’s what I’m trying to do! It won’t stop reminding me until I actually do what I've set it to remind me to do! I should have known Hermione would get me a watch that would be so bloody persistent!”

“You set a reminder for us to talk about Hermione?" Harry asked in disbelief, "Since when did you become so organised?”

“I didn't set it for that!” Ron screamed over the noise, now unable to shut it off, "It's been three days!"

"What - ?"

"It's been three days!" Ron repeated, glaring at him

Harry realised what Ron was telling him. It had been three days since he gave Ron Hermione's letter.

He put his wands on top of his desk and walked up to where Ron stood. Since Ron's verbal attack on Hermione Harry had wanted to tell him one thing. He figured he should say it now in case he wouldn't be able to later.

Harry spoke quietly over Ron's ringing time teller, "I loved her too, Ron. I'm sorry about Ginny but what Hermione and I did had nothing to do with you. And when it was over we couldn’t tell you for the obvious reasons. It wasn't Hermione's fault. I knew that if I came to her she wouldn't refuse. I shouldn't have asked."

That was his one regret. Looking back now through a wiser set of eyes he would have done things differently. Hindsight was always 20/20.

Ron had tears in his eyes too, but his were of anger and frustration.

"Enough defending her already," he chastised him, "I know what happened, okay? Ginny, she told me. She told me everything. I know it wasn’t Hermione’s fault and right now I don't really care whose fault it was! But dammit Harry! For a guy who wouldn't hurt a bee you’re certainly like an elephant in a Chinese grocery store!"

Ron always mixed up his Muggle sayings.

"I know."

He thought about his children. How he wished Lily would be okay and would talk to him. And he didn’t know where to start making it up to Hugo.

The ringing from Ron’s timeteller only grew louder by the second. While it didn’t seem that Ron came to beat him up he couldn’t be sure. What Ron was about to inflict would hurt but a fraction of what he was putting his children through and he deserved it. He braced himself, reminding himself not to duck.

"Okay, I'm ready. Do you worst."

Ron hesitated then growled, “I really hate you, do you know that?! Grab your wand and help me figure out how to shut this blasted thing off!”

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione excused herself from the head table, thanking the village elders again for the hospitality and shelter they had extended to her and her family. She left them somewhat disappointed in her. The news of her being the former Mistress of Death buoyed many of them but, as what she had done during her meeting with the Being leaders, she gave them no unreasonable expectations about her current capabilities. As for Hugo, she made clear what she thought of the prophecy. One person, let alone a boy, would not save their world. All of them would have to fight the battle against Malvado.

She headed to where Warren and Gracie were seated with Maria. Their eyes were on Al on the stage. Hermione heard the tail end of his performance.

Isa, what a beautiful name!

Without you my life won’t be the same.

You are the one, my first and my only.

My heart and my soul are yours, truly.

“Well done! Bravo!” Maria cheered loudly, her voice carrying over the applause. She said to them after, “Young love is such a wonderful thing.”

“Young love sucks,” Warren rebutted.

“But it’s romantic and sweet,” Gracie argued, “When else would you have the courage and conviction to compose a poem and spill your heart out like that in front of complete strangers?”

“My point exactly. That boy will regret this moment forever.”

“All of us have made fools of ourselves in the past,” Hermione joined in, “Admit it, to love carefree like that is exhilarating. You’ll never feel that way ever again.”

“Because it wasn’t worth it the first time,” Warren replied.

“No,” she disagreed, “Because you’re never quite the same person after that first.”

“I wish I was everybody else’s first,” Maria sighed, “Nobody ever pined over me like that in my youth.”

“Never had such luck either,” Gracie concurred.

“You women are so delusional.”

That made them all laugh.

“I guess I shouldn’t be expecting anything like that from you.”

“Right about that, honey,” Warren answered Gracie.

Maria nudged her cousin, “Come on, Grace. We have to get ready. We’re up soon.”

“Oh, right,” Gracie got up and whispered something in Warren’s ear that made him smile.

They watched the two women as they made their way back stage. Warren had this smirk on his face. Their thoughts connected and she bit the bait.

I am not jealous.

I’m still choosing to believe you are.

You’ve always been an arrogant bastard. I like her, I really do. She’s been good for you. You’ve been good for her.

She likes you, too.

Warren!

I am a man and I can only think like a man.

He was laughing and she could only shake her head.

You have to reassure her more. I don’t think she fully understands us.

I tried but it’s a woman thing. She knows it’s something she’ll just have to get over with.

The both disconnected. It was a bit of a surprise when Warren told her a few weeks ago that he was seeing Gracie. Warren saw other women before but this was his first attempt at a monogamous relationship since theirs. It was an adjustment for both of them.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” he asked.

"Yes. Thanks for doing this.”

“Right,” he thought she was being sarcastic, “I'm just waiting for what kind of pay back is in store for me.”

“I'm not talking about the birthday thing.”

“Of course, not.”

“I'm talking about making the suggestion to have a village celebration. They needed this. The birthday singing you will have to pay for.”

“I'm sure I will.”

“And thanks."

"For what?"

"Coming back to save my life."

"Just don't do anything that crazy again. What were you thinking?"

“I obviously wasn't.”

“Okay, what I did was borderline traitorous,” he admitted, “Were you testing my loyalty?”

She had to laugh, “There are less lethal ways to do that, though you did pass that with flying colours.”

“So, why did you stay that night?” he pressed on.

Hermione felt him probe her mind and she let him through, back to that night she decided to fight Malvado on her own. She explained.

He knows who I am, my name, where I live. He knows my children. He will not stop until he kills me and he kills Hugo. I can’t hide from him.

And you thought you could just wing it?

I was hoping for a miracle.

You don’t believe in prophecies but you believe in miracles.

There isn’t much else to believe in. I no longer have the luxury of time. I don’t have another year to figure him out.

Then get me the Hallows. You may have made the vow not to use them but I didn’t. We can end this sooner.

Warren vented his frustration. When she didn’t answer he made the conclusion.

You don’t trust me.

Don’t be ridiculous. I left Rosie and Hugo with you.

You don’t trust me with the Hallows.

It’s not a matter of trust.

But you trust Harry. You found a way around the POTH to lend him the stone. What happened there? Did you acquire a few allies to tip the power in your favour?

She left his questions unanswered.

You believe in the prophecy way too much. Harry would never put Hugo in any danger.

You just can’t see it and neither will Harry. Not giving Hugo the Hallows puts him in more danger.

If he were yours you’d see it my way.

Warren heaved a long sigh.

Fine. What do I care? I'm just a regular prick. I shouldn’t have to try too hard.

She took a look around his mind for any evidence that Malvado had been in touch with him. He answered her query.

“Haven’t heard from him yet.”

"By now he must know you're playing both sides," she said quite concerned, "You shouldn't report back when he summons you."

"What? And waste my perfect cover? Are you mad?" Warren reacted to her suggestion explosively, "I have him right where I want him."

"And where is this exactly? Where he knows you're definitely not useful to him and expendable?"

Hermione couldn't understand. The extent of Warren's mind games with Malvado was beyond her, in spite of her trying very hard to put herself in his shoes.

"No," he explained for the umpteenth time, "Now that you're alive he needs me to get to you and to Hugo more than ever. Failing to do so once will make him try again and he's cocky enough to think that he will succeed the next time. Then when he fails he'll try a third."

"You're sure that he'll give you three chances?"

"It's written."

She shook her head in exasperation at his fatalistic attitude.

"Then after?"

"I could die. But that's the beauty of it. We won’t let it get to that. We'll get him before he kills me."

“I hate it when you get prophetic on me,” she replied, “We haven’t figured that getting-to-him part out, remember?”

“We will. Just hang in there.”

“I still don’t like the idea of you going back. I get that you can alter your destiny but Malvado can alter the course of our futures just as easily as we can alter his. What if he decides this one chance he gave you is enough? It's too great a risk."

"It's only one life. Compare that to the ones already lost and the ones who will die unless we send him back."

As hard as it was to admit, that made sense. Hermione was genuinely concerned. She had recently seen a remote memory of Warren’s, one with the Hag while he trained with her eons ago. Warren downplayed it but she sensed he was completely sold on it.

"The Hag said you either betray me completely or you die. Just so I’m clear, I forbid you to die for me."

"Don’t worry. I’m perfectly capable of bailing on you without you telling me. But if I don’t and the Hag’s prophecy does come true, think of it this way. Hugo is the one - no, don't argue. He is the one, and he needs you to be the one. He can't save wizardom unless you're there for him so I won't be dying for you, I'll be dying for a cause. In fact that's what I want on my tombstone - Here lies a complete arse whose last act was to die for a cause."

It would be useless to express her disagreement.

"If I outlive you that will definitely not go on your tombstone."

"Oh yeah? What would you put on it?"

"Here lies Warren Gates, father, friend, a great man in every way, unimaginable to most but to the many lives he touched."

"Wimpy. Great. Now you've just given me good reason to outlive you."

“Good.”

The vamps and the half-bodied beings were up. She and Warren watched their cleanly performed folk dance, the tiny candles in their hands and on their heads not falling once in the course of the complicated choreography. During it all Hermione’s mind drifted off to how Harry was doing with the stone. Between the Being in Humptail and Ted, Harry would have the information that she couldn’t give to him directly. That would hopefully alleviate his frustration.

“Listen, about Harry,” she said to Warren as they clapped their hands at the conclusion of the program, “He’s going through a lot. I'd really appreciate it if you eased off on him a bit.”

Warren whined, “But I've waited forever for him to finally know about Hugo so I can tell him what a clueless fuck he has been for thirteen years. I'm not making this easier for him. He didn't make things easy for me. Does he know what it feels like to be abandoned by the man you love twice in one lifetime? He doesn't; I do. And to raise a child without him because you didn't want to interrupt his perfect life? I went through all that. I've been waiting a long time to do this.”

Warren was being silly on purpose.

“You do realise you sound just like a scorned woman.”

“I am. He ruined my life.”

“How do you figure that?”

“He introduced me to you.”

“True.”

“Not to mention, he makes you, and hence me, feel all girly horny whenever he's around you."

Hermione couldn't help but laugh.

“You think this is funny? If Gracie found out about this it’ll be the end of us,” Warren complained bitterly.

“I’m sorry but ‘girly horny’?”

He finally laughed too, unable to keep a poker face.

"Deny it all you want. I really don't know how you women live with yourselves; all that tension and anxiety hanging over you for years on end. What’s with that?”

“You're full of it.”

“We men don't torture ourselves,” he was quick to point out, “We move on and find other objects of attraction.”

“I’ve moved on,” she argued back, “Are we done with him?

“You brought him up,” Warren reminded her, “And let's face it. We won't ever be.”

“Can you at least stop calling me ‘honey’?”

“You know I only do it because it annoys him. He hates thinking that you're with me. And admit it, you also want him to think you're with me. You're afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes. Fearful – frightened - afraid.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“So why didn’t you tell him we’re not together?”

“Because he didn’t ask that question?” she replied. Warren raised his brows, waiting for a better answer, “He did not ask that question exactly. Am I supposed to assume that was what he wanted to know? And he has known for a long time. I told him nothing has changed between us. Why would he care anyway?”

Warren commented, “He has you scared out of your wits, you can’t even argue properly.”

Hermione couldn’t get anything past him.

“So if I am afraid, what exactly am I afraid of?”

“You know. You’re afraid because he isn't wearing his wedding ring. You’re afraid you’re going for a ride again.”

She did notice when he held her hand.

Hermione shrugged, “Maybe he took it off and misplaced it.”

Warren debunked that theory, “Right. Then explain this. Mrs. Potter, when I last saw her, wasn't wearing hers either.”

“Maybe she misplaced hers too.”

“I doubt it. If anything she probably had hers resized. It's now too small for her ego,” Warren couldn’t resist taking a stab at Ginny, “You should ask him what happened. You should ask him tonight. He did say he was coming.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. There. Portkey compliance matters about to be cleared up. Wish me well on the next one…not sure how it’s going to turn out but I hope it will be special. :)

62. Half Yours, Half Mine

A/N. It’s been a while, a long while. I miss everyone.

XXXXXXXXX

Chapter 62 – Half Yours, Half Mine

"You ruined it, man," Juan said to Al.

They were conducting a post-program debrief, telling him where he had gone wrong.

"I thought it went well," Tomas judged.

"What do you mean?" Juan argued with his friend. "He was the only one who used English!"

"He was the only Englishman," Tomas defended him.

Al had crashed from the performance high he had moments earlier straight into this queasy feeling in his stomach.

"Quiet down, she's coming," Marco warned, pointing behind Al with his mouth, "Pretend like we're talking about something else."

Juan decided on the topic, unfortunately.

"I really thought the vampire dance was hot! Still have a stiff one from..."

"Excuse me," Isa came up next to Al while the other girls stayed back and asked, "Can I talk to you for a second?"

She looked very serious. Al gulped and nodded and followed her some distance away, out of sight and out of earshot from the rest. When they got to a more private spot she stopped. Roses. He smelled roses and noticed they were beside bushes of them.

Isa hesitated at first, searching for the words, then said to him, "What you did made me very uncomfortable. Nobody has ever made me this uncomfortable, ever."

That sounded bad.

"I'm sorry," he immediately apologized but Isa was quick to make him feel better.

"No - it's okay - I think. I mean - I'd rather you didn't bring that much attention to me again but it was really very sweet. Thank you."

Isa turned and walked away, leaving him perplexed. Did that mean she liked it? Did she not like it? Was she really okay with it or just okay? Couldn't she be more clear?

Al was so pre-occupied with his questions that he didn't notice Isa had come back. She was all of a sudden right in front of him and on her toes, planting a kiss on his cheek.

As she backed away their eyes met and held each others'. His heart stopped, his lungs stopped, time stopped, and there was only them in some sort of a fishbowl dream; them in the midst of a bed of roses. Something within nudged him to take a step closer, his hand brushed up against hers by accident. She blushed but when she didn't move away he was emboldened to look into her eyes deeply. Hmmm...he could gaze into them all day...

Then awareness hit him that they couldn't just stand there and stare at each other all day. He heard panicky voices in his head.

Do something!

Like what?

Kiss her!

No! Don't rush!

She started it!

What about chivalry? What about being a gentleman?

What about being the only boy in your year who hasn't snogged a girl yet?! And you so want to snog her!

Isa interrupted his internal argument with a loaded question, "Are you going to kiss me?"

Al replied, his throat and mouth extremely dry, "I'm thinking about it."

"I'd greatly appreciate it if you can decide a bit quicker," he heard her say, her red lips were extremely inviting.

"Why?"

She drew a shallow breath in before answering, "Because I'm having trouble breathing and I might pass out if you don't do it soon."

She was joking, kind of. Isa, he figured, had this quirky sense of humour that got quirkier whenever she was in an uncomfortable situation. A burst of relief exploded inside of him when it dawned on him. She wanted him to kiss her!

There was chivalry and flat out stupidity.

"Okay," was all Al could say.

Never having kissed anyone before he just went with his gut. He tipped his head slightly to the right, leaned down, his eyes fluttering to a close just as hers did. He could already feel her soft sweetness even before his lips touched hers. This was perfect, just as he imagined it would be.

"Score!"

"She wants your love!"

"Give it, man! Give it!"

The perfect moment came to a screeching halt, instantly ruined by the deluge of cat calls and cheering behind him.

Before Al could recover from that Isa was gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments earlier...

"You should talk to her about it," Spencer told Hugo for the umpteenth time.

They were heading to their hut to change. Into less formal wear. Hugo was walking fast, not so much that he was in a hurry to get there but so that he could get as far away from Spencer as possible. Spencer was beginning to annoy him.

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean 'why'?"

Hugo decided to ignore the question.

The werewolf pressed on, "She can't be okay about what Casanova just did."

Truthfully, he found the entire episode irritating too. He tried not to notice the look of embarrassment on Isa's face throughout Al's binalaybay but her silence after indicated her lack of repulsion to his brother's intentions. Spencer saw that too and the possibility that Isa liked Al upset them both.

"Well it seems like she is," Hugo pointed out the obvious.

"You have to do something!"

"Like what? I can't tell her not to like my brother."

"Why not?"

"Because-" and Hugo had to really think about it, "Because that's not up to me to decide."

"Maybe not but you can tell her you don't like it, to influence her."

"Why does it have to be me? Why don't you do it?"

"Because if I do it she'll get pissed at me, think I'm being a jealous prick and do the exact opposite of what I ask."

"You are being a jealous prick."

"What's your point?"

"I thought that was over."

"It is. I just don't like the idea of her with your brother or her with some other bloke who just wants to get in her pants."

"But wasn't that the very thing you wanted to do?"

"Yes."

"Then why is it okay if you do it and not anyone else?"

Spencer reasoned, "I never said that what I did was okay."

Hugo just gave him the look before finally deciding that Spencer's recognition of his depravity of character was actually a good thing.

His friend continued, "You don't like it one bit too. If she hears it from you she will listen."

That Spencer picked up that he didn't like the idea of Al and Isa becoming close was somewhat embarrassing. It was wrong and Hugo didn't want to think that way. But he couldn't help it and Spencer wasn't going to stop pestering him until he did what he was being asked.

"Fine," he told Spencer.

"Really?!" Spencer was surprised at his giving up so easily.

"Really," he replied, it was really too late to back out of it now.

"Great! Tell me how it goes. I'll meet you back at the hut."

And the werewolf was off.

"Wait!" he called out, "Aren't you at least going to come with me?"

Spencer disappeared further down the path mumbling something incoherent. Hugo guessed that would be a 'no'.

What did I get myself into?

Hugo doubled back to where he last saw Isa with the other girls, thinking about how to tell her.

Spence and I were talking and we don't like the idea...

Best not to mention Spencer. Hugo suspected that Spencer was not being totally honest. If he was indeed over the incident between him and Isa it seemed strange that he would care who got into Isa's pants, particularly when it was the very thing he tried to do...unless as a friend he truly cared about Isa's um...virtue.

I can't tell you what to do but I don't like the idea...

That didn't sound right either. Hugo couldn't understand why he was against it. There was nothing wrong with Isa dating and from what he heard from Rosie Al was a decent guy when it came to girls; in fact, too decent to a fault, whatever that meant.

I know I can't tell you who to llike and not like but I'd rather you didn't go out with Al.

But she wasn't even going out with him yet. Wasn't it premature to assume that she would? He didn't want to give her any ideas.

If Al asks you to go out with him, I'd rather you didn't.

And why is that, Hugo?

Because that would mean you're going to see him more which means I won't get to spend time with you anymore.

Why not?

Because I'd rather not see you two do um stuff - maybe not that - because I don't want to spend time with him more than I really have to.

But he's your brother. You really should try to make him and the others become a part of your life.

Hugo could just imagine Isa taking that conversation and using it to address his avoidance of the other Potter family. Then he'd be trapped into promising her to do something he didn't want to do. He was so not going there.

This was not going well. Really, the best way would be to leave it alone, not tell her how he and Spencer thought about Al and hope the entire episode would just pass. Even if they liked each other it wouldn't work anyway Isa was at the IMAN and Al was at Hogwarts. There was a huge ocean between them; they wouldn't stand a chance. Maybe he could tell Isa that scenario. She would see the logic in that.

As he got closer to the stage his palms began sweating and his confidence wavered. He was about to give Isa unsolicited boy advice. Him - a thirteen year old boy whose experience with girls and relationships could fill a foot long parchment, maybe not even, all because he and Spencer didn't want to lose Isa to some 'boy'. Just then he realised that they couldn't really stop her from seeing anyone. This would be the one and only time he would do this. He couldn't imagine ever doing this again.

He began hearing voices which he instantly recognised as Isa's and Al's. He couldn't make out what they were saying but he followed the sound and saw them standing beside some rose bushes behind the stage.

They were alone, not talking now but looking at each other. While Hugo was used to seeing couples lin various states of intimacy at the IMAN there was something about the scene that shook him to the core. Even though Spencer had told him about what happened over the summer between him and Isa, what that meant didn't fully hit him until now. He felt sick to his stomach seeing Isa looking at a boy like that.

The Isa he knew was smart and serious and wasn't interested in boys that way. The Isa he knew wouldn't snog just anyone (Spencer wasn't just anyone) and definitely not someone she just met. She wasn't that kind of girl at all. And talking about her being with a boy was so different from actually seeing her with one.

He forced his eyes shut and looked away. He didn't want to see it happen. All he could think now was that this was Al's fault. Al was turning Isa into someone she wasn't. Why did Al pick Isa of all girls? Wasn't it enough their father chose them? And now Al was about to take Isa away from him too. Why couldn't he find someone else's friend to poach?

Stop!!!

Hugo opened his eyes abruptly and realised that was all in his head. There was wild cheering nearby.

"Score!"

"She wants your 'love!"

"Give it, man! Give it!"

It was Juan and a couple of the other boys. Al was standing, frozen like a statue where he last saw him but not Isa.

Her blur went past him. He ran up beside her but she was walking so fast he could barely keep up. They were far from the stage when she slowed down and he finally caught up. Isa was upset, she was almost in tears.

"Not one word!" she cautioned him before he could even think of what to say.

Hugo was quite fine with that.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry followed the path that led to the clearing where the music was coming from. There was a party of sorts. He stood a few feet back from the crowd and spotted Warren at the centre of attention, dancing with Gracie, the vampire restaurant owner Harry had met a few days ago.

It was a local folk dance he had never seen before. Two beings held a pair of thick, long bamboo poles on their opposing ends, tapped them down twice and slid them together to close at the center before lifting them apart and repeating the same while dancers pranced about.

Tap, tap, snap - tap, tap, snap -

And so it went, the audience clapping to the rhythm, cheering them on as their feet stepped into and out of the space in between the bamboos, in perfect cadence to the music, avoiding the poles as they slid against each other, barely missing their ankles at each snap.

A few more pairs of bamboos were then brought out, expanding the dance floor even more. Several other couples joined in, taking turns while Harry methodically searched the crowd for Hermione and the children. He spotted Rosie with some girls daringly trying it out. Al was at the sidelines looking on, as were Hugo and with his friends, all of them cheering Rosie on. For a minute it felt like all was normal and good. He couldn't remember the last time he saw their children this carefree.

Then he saw her, in the front row of the audience. She was observing the children too, with the same expression he had. It was great to see her having fun. Moments later Hugo came and convinced her to do a run with her.

Harry couldn't help but grin as he watched mother and son dance. Hugo, thankfully, had inherited that talent from his Mum. They were doing so well until Hugo purposely missed a couple of steps to get Hermione's reaction. His mother playfully chided him for messing it up. That made Harry laugh.

Soon Warren was at their side. Harry saw the Canadian motion to Hugo good-naturedly to watch them do it right. Warren theatrically called for more bamboos and when the Beings had set them in a criss-cross pattern, did an exaggerated bow; Hermione obliged with a curtsy.

They danced. Well, it was actually more than that. It was a performance. Not keen on watching, Harry thought of leaving but that would be juvenile. Really he should just suck it up.

And Hermione was enjoying herself. They were effortlessly moving into and out of the space in between the poles, neither looking down even once even as the pace quickened, confident that there would be no misstep. The audience laughed here and there mostly at Warren's antics. Personally Harry couldn't find anything amusing about it but Hugo seemed to be having a blast.

Harry felt out of place. As much as he wanted to be a part of what was happening, it was clear that he didn't belong. He came tonight eager to talk with Hermione, not so much about the case but about Hugo, and it looked like now was not the time to do that. He should have realized his urgency was not theirs.

As he pondered what to do, some local woman approached him and introduced herself.

"I’m Maria Ortega. Jean and I worked together years ago when she was with the IMP."

"The woman in Jessie's freezer," Harry greeted warmly, getting the chuckle he had hoped to get, shaking hands with her, "I've heard so much about you. I'm pleased to finally meet you. Harry Potter."

"Hugo's father, I know."

Being known first as 'Hugo's father' than as anything else was something he was not really accustomed to.

"I get this feeling that I was the last to find out," he joked.

"Jean was always a woman of many secrets."

Thinking back about their past and what he found out about her after Hogwarts Harry couldn't agree more. He followed Maria's gaze back to where Hermione and Warren were dancing. Harry felt it odd hearing someone addressing her by her middle name.

"You call her Jean."

"The nature of her work at the IMP then necessitated use of an alternate name. She was Jean Peverell to us," Maria answered.

"What exactly did she do?"

Maria paused, scrutinizing him before finally answering, "I suppose you're all right."

"Off the record," he reassured her, not that he would ever do that to Hermione.

"She took down bad elements of society using unlawful methods."

He had surmised as much from previous conversations with Hermione but wanted a better picture. He feigned ignorance.

"Really?"

"When I met her I didn't think she'd last the week. I still wasn't convinced until about six months later. We were in Thailand. The IMP had lost many operatives trying to apprehend a syndicate of for-hire assassins and they sent Warren to eliminate the lot. Warren had asked me and Jean for help. He infiltrated their ranks but before we could attack, we received intel that his cover was blown and that he was dead. I watched Jean stroll calmly to the front door, ring the bell and take out the doorman without lifting her wand. By the time I arrived in the house all the bad guys were dead. That was when I found out about the Hallows."

The picture Maria painted explained Hermione's approach to Llamas at the Ministry earlier. It gave him goosebumps hearing about this side to Hermione he never knew existed. Somehow it was still very difficult to see Hermione doing something like that. But it was what Maria said about Warren that struck a chord in him. In the context of what Hermione was at that time and their current difficulties with Malvado and Llamas, Harry wasn't about to assume the obvious.

"Warren wasn't dead after all."

Maria answered with reluctance, "Only Jean really knows. When I found them he was still unconscious. She said she didn't have the power to bring anyone back from the dead but I've always wondered. I've seen her survive just about anything, including a significant dose of exanguine while she was pregnant with Hugo. What she had was very special. Too bad she gave the Hallows up."

His lack of knowledge of details like the one he just heard continued to make him feel like an ass. More than ever, he was determined not to let her shut him out of her life again.

"She saved Warren's life."

"The first of many. Warren never worried about getting killed anymore after that and he kind of enjoyed it that no matter how much she said she wouldn't, Jean still bailed him out every time he got himself in trouble."

"Is that why she trusts Warren? Because she thinks he owes her for saving his life?"

Maria sensed how he felt about the Canadian.

"You disapprove of Warren."

Harry replied bluntly, "I don't trust him."

"You disapprove because you don't trust him or because she does?"

To be honest, it was both. Normally he wouldn't be so open but seeing that present company seemed to know both Warren and Hermione well and his role in Hermione's and Hugo's life, he took the opportunity to find out more about Hermione's and Warren's relationship, something neither would share with him

"She does for the wrong reasons."

"If I were her I would have plenty of other fine reasons to trust Warren," Maria rebutted, "You know of their unusual mental connection. He can't hide much from her."

"He's taking advantage of her."

"Years ago I said something in the same vein to Warren about her."

"Hermione took advantage of Warren?" he didn't believe it.

"She probably didn't realize it at the time. Shortly before Thailand she went back to London to attend your wedding. Warren was worried about her and decided to go too. That was when things started between them. I think he was just trying to be a friend and back then that was the only way he knew how.

"On the outside she was this hard core, tight ass bitch but on the inside she was an emotional wreck. It was obvious that all she needed from him was the physical distraction he provided. That and taking out every dark wizard she could get her hands on were about the only things that kept her from going completely to the other side during those days. Warren was like a drug to her; she needed him to heal. And Warren was quite aware of this so I guess he allowed her to take advantage of him."

"Warren wouldn't do something unless he got something back in return."

"It was something, all right. Let me just say there was a point in time when it was difficult to be with them in the same room and not blush. The actual sex, I heard, was mind blowing," Maria said in a more private tone, "And if you know Warren you know he got exactly what he wanted."

It was too late to completely stop his face from warming up. Mind blowing?

"Normally that would be enough for Warren but she gave him so much more, something that he never expected. In time she got better, she was happier and much of it because of him. He liked how he made her feel and how she made him feel. She gave him a taste of what happiness was like. His one mistake was that he began to hope. It came to a point when he couldn't let them just go on with things the way they were. He realised that he loved her so he asked her to marry him."

"She turned him down."

"Without second thought. I think with her recovery came the recognition that she wasn't in it long term. Not used to rejection Warren was devastated. He didn't speak to her for years and I don't think she has ever completely forgiven herself for using him. They had since gotten back together on more equal terms which worked well for them for a long time. But I admire them for both for how they've been able to maintain their friendship even though Warren is with Grace now."

Harry tried to hide his surprise, his heart rate going up a few notches.

"So she and Warren aren't - ?" he couldn't say 'lovers' and left it at that.

"Not anymore. She didn't tell you?" Maria asked rhetorically then continued, "He may be using her and taking advantage of her or he may not. But even if he were, Jean knows and she's allowing it. And she trusts Warren just like she trusts you because like you he's been through a lot of craziness with her and I'm not only talking about the mental and emotional connection they have. This is them working a case, them being the partners they were from the time when she wielded the powers of the Hallows. I've been telling Grace the same thing. She has some difficulty with it too. But I would think you of all people would understand. You trust her unconditionally for the same reason."

Harry did understand though he wished he didn't. He wanted to believe that Hermione's blind trust in Warren was either gratitude or guilt. It was upsetting to think that it went beyond that.

But imagining what Hermione went through all those years, he was (somewhat) belatedly grateful that she had Warren. Her having no one at all, he figured, would have been worse. And while he still didn't completely trust Warren he was certain now that had Warren been some other faceless, nameless guy, he would have hated the thought of her having any intimate relationship with him just the same and probably wouldn't trust him either.

For years he had battled with this Jekyl-Hyde demon, struggling mightily with hoping her happiness with another man one second and relieved that she never did find someone the next. He finally could see clearly why. As much as he wished her happiness with another man, what he wanted the most was for her to be happy not with anyone else but with him. It was selfish, unjustly possessive and wrong but it was liberating to freely think that now that it was okay to want it.

The flood of emotions that came with the admission woke up a multitude of repressed desires. Harry couldn't deny hope and possibility from creeping in. He loved her, still, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life loving her the way he did before.

He was getting a rare third chance and he could only think of coming up to her right then and there, and tell her how he felt, and tell her what he wanted. No matter how bad things got, she kept coming back into his life and was always there for him. It was reasonable to conclude that she still had feelings for him and unimaginable that she would deny him the chance to make it up to her.

Then he remembered what she told him the last time he tried doing something like that.

I don't want to be the other woman.

Technically that wouldn't be the case anymore but though on paper he had complete freedom to love her in every way he desired, to do so now would be unfair. His personal life was a mess, he wasn't sure if or when he could fix it. He couldn't drag her into it, not when he was uncertain if he could ever make her happy the way she deserved to be. Already he could hear the family blaming her for everything that went wrong in his marriage. Doing what he wanted to do would subject her to more of that.

And he could only think of one reason why she wanted him to believe she was still with Warren; she didn't want him getting any ideas either. It was obvious that she preferred how things were between them.

They watched Warren and Hermione finish. The bamboo poles were being removed and the master of ceremonies announced the return of the local village band. As Maria excused herself to talk with a half-bodied being, he took a big breath in and let it out. Harry couldn't stand thinking about it anymore. He had to talk to her.

He blocked out his previous musings and took one big step towards Hermione.

XXXXXXXXXX

The music shifted and the crowd began to disperse, leaving the older couples at the centre of the dance floor. Warren took her in his arms and swayed her to the soft, slow tune the local village band was playing for the 'oldies'.

Who else is gonna give you

A broken arrow

Who else is gonna give you

A bottle of rain

Hermione caught Gracie's brief unguarded reaction before the vampire disappeared in the crowd and felt obliged to point this out to Warren.

Dance with Gracie.

If you're worried about her being jealous, that's a bit too late now.

You are a horrible boyfriend.

I never give her any ideas that it’s otherwise.

Seriously, Warren.

She'll get over it. One dance, for old times' sake.

There was something about how he thought it that caught her attention. His current silence concerned her; Warren was never at a loss for words.

Out of habit she navigated past his superficial mental barriers until she began hearing the white noise of his idle thoughts. Then a resistance, an image of several vault doors came to her.

Warren's mental locks were complicated but not entirely unbreakable. They used to make a game of it, to see who could break into the others' the fastest. But this wasn't a game. The locks were recent. He really wanted to keep her out of his inner mind.

Out of respect she decided to pull out and find out the old fashioned way.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"I've been thinking."

"About?"

"You not making it through this alive."

"Glad you’re so positive."

"I'm saying this in spite of the protest I’m getting from every living cell in my body."

"Then maybe you shouldn't say it."

Undeterred by her lack of seriousness he replied, ""If Harry ever does the right thing by you, and I sense he will try, let him."

That was totally out of the blue. Warren meant every word and Hermione knew how hard that was for him to say. It was so unexpected she had no immediate response. Warren went on.

"The children are grown and will look for their own happiness. You’ve done enough to make them and everyone else happy You're entitled to yours."

What he just said finally sunk in. It was touching that Warren got past his anti-Harry core to even say it but she couldn't take it seriously. The idea that Harry would 'do the right thing by her' the way Warren implied he would was really a stretch. And besides, she wasn't unhappy.

Warren sensed her thoughts and was quickly back to normal, judging her harshly.

"What you have is the boredom of contentment."

"There's nothing wrong with contentment," she defended herself.

"There's something wrong with settling for 'not unhappy', especially when you don't have to."

"You're reading too much into this ring thing."

"I'm not and you sense it, otherwise you wouldn't be hiding behind me."

"Nothing has changed. And even if things have changed it doesn't mean anything. We've travelled that path many times before and we always end up in a bad spot. He knows not to ask it of me."

"Wishful thinking, are we? I'm just saying that when he does, don't screw it up."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You avoid happiness like the plague."

"I do not," she denied, mocking his ridiculous conclusion.

"You have this compulsion to make crazy illogical decisions based on making everyone happy at your expense."

She told him in jest to shut up already. Warren did. He pulled her closer, much too close even for close friends. She decided not to say anything. He asked for one dance. She could at least give him that for old times' sake.

XXXXXXXXXXX

It seemed to take Harry forever to get from where he was to where she was. And the longer he took the more attention he got from the local folks. It was understandably odd seeing a stranger, a foreigner at that, walking across the village. It was like having a spotlight on his head but it was too late to turn back.

"Hello - hi - excuse me -"

He made his way through the crowd. Then he had to stop. Rose Weasley was in his path, arms across her chest, pink hair and all, and wearing her mother's familiar stern expression. She was not going to let him through and he knew better than to try.

“Rose.”

“Uncle Harry.”

Rose had the ability to make grown men cringed under her glare.

“Er - how are you?”

“I need to talk to you,” she got to the point.

She led him out of the crowd, stopped where it was least crowded and where the music was the least audible. Then she waited for him. When he got to her she didn’t give him a chance to speak. Rose, like Hermione at her age, preferred the blunt brutal honest approach. But even though he knew this he wasn’t prepared for it.

“What are your intentions?” she asked pointedly.

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

“Intentions?”

Rose interrupted him.

“I know what you’re doing. I don’t want the synthesized, adult version you’re crafting as I’m talking. It’s none of my business but I want to know the truth. I want to know if your intentions are good enough for my Mum.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Warren pulled back as the song was winding down and said to her, "My time's up. Harry's come to claim you."

"Will you stop being so melodramatic? You're creeping me out," she scolded him until she felt Harry come up behind her.

They stopped dancing. Warren was telling her 'I told you so' in not so many words. She turned to face him..

Harry asked, "May I?"

Did he just ask her to dance with him?

"She's all yours," Warren replied for her with his usual annoying air of smugness.

Harry answered back calmly, "I wasn't asking you."

"But she was," Warren retorted, a blatant lie meant to annoy Harry, which didn’t work, "I hope you know what you're doing."

Before Hermione could set the record straight Warren was gone, Harry was holding her hand and a new song was being played. He leaned over and whispered in her ear.

"Relax. I do know what I'm doing - in theory."

He had a peaceful smile on, the kind she hadn't seen on him in a long while. She smiled back and relaxed as he suggested. She put her other hand on his shoulder.

"Let me know when you need help," she offered.

"You mean 'if I need help'," he corrected, dipping her off to one side suddenly, his arm sliding smoothly down to her waist, supporting her so she wouldn't fall.

The move caught her off guard and she was momentarily speechless. He pulled her up effortlessly, satisfied at the reaction he got.

"I stand corrected," she said to him, returning the grin he was trying to hide with an attempt at hiding her own.

They danced, kind of. She was too distracted. He was in an unusual mood tonight.

"Are you okay?" she had to ask.

He indicated he was but she didn't believe him. Something wasn't quite right. He was loose, too loose. For someone who was having the week he was having he was either really coping well or on the brink of losing it. That worried her.

As she tried to figure what was bothering him she picked up a detail and shared it with him excitedly.

"I just realized. This is the first time we've ever danced."

"Sssh."

That made her chuckle.

"Did you just sssh me?" she protested jokingly.

"Sorry. This being our first I don't want to ruin it."

"By talking?"

"No. By -"

"Ow," she blurted out.

He just stepped on her foot.

"Sorry. I'm still working on dancing and talking at the same time," he apologized, embarrassed, "Are you okay?"

"I'll survive."

It was still hurting but she tried not to limp too much.

"Do you want to stop?"

And he almost stepped on her toes again. Harry swore to himself. It was kind of adorable.

"Talking yes. Dancing no."

Harry was fine with that. He took over, keeping his distance the entire time. He was a decent dancer and a good partner. Granted that he wasn't Warren (nobody was) she was completely at ease with him leading her. The silence between them was filled by the lyrics of the song the band was playing.

Now the pictures that you left behind

Are just memories of a different life

Some that made us laugh, some that made us cry

One that made us have to say goodbye

What I'd give to run my fingers through your hair

To touch your lips, to hold you near...

She felt Harry's eyes on her but he looked away just as she looked up. Her eyes flitted naturally to his hair and then his lips, before she decided that was wrong and focused them on a fixed point somewhere else.

Yeah I will love you baby, always

And I'll be there forever and a day, always...

The song was giving her inappropriate ideas so she figured it was best not to listen to it. But without that to distract her all she could think about was where his hands were. Their prolonged close proximity and contact brought up many uncomfortable memories. Whereas before she would have been able to quickly brush the thoughts aside, because of what Warren said earlier it was so difficult to do that now. Since their short lived affair Hermione was always aware of him, of how she was drawn to him physically, but until now it was awareness that she would never consider acting on again.

She swore in her head. This was exactly what she didn't want to deal with. Warren had read her right. A part of her wanted to be with Harry again but the possibility was terrifying. The mere possibility of getting there was terrifying. And this was all her without Harry suggesting anything.

Again she noticed the absence of the band around his finger and she couldn't decide whether to ask what happened or to ask if anything happened at all. There was comfort in not knowing but at the same time, she couldn't deny that she wanted to know.

What if his marriage was indeed over? What did that mean? What if he did try to do the 'right thing' for her as Warren suspected he would? That idea wasn't as preposterous now as it was earlier.

It had been years since she last thought about happiness that way. She had that one chance to be that with Harry and in the time since it was giving that thought up that made her have contentment in her life. Reacquiring it would be a step back.

She didn't want to be at that crossroad again. She was fine with the way things were. And truthfully, as much she knew Harry wouldn't intentionally hurt her, getting burned a third time would tear her apart more than she got torn before. Surely Harry realized that they had no future as a couple, not now and not ever. Surely he cared enough not to ask that of her again.

Hermione found herself looking up and watching Harry again; to read him. They were just dancing, like old friends would. Once in a while he would look and smile at her at her but he kept his distance and seemed content with this casualness.

Rational thinking came to her. Granted that they had a few tender unguarded moments since she awoke from her injuries, it was understandable that he would feel guilty about not being around and overcompensate to try and make it up to her and Hugo. The initial shock about Hugo was over and there would be no more of that.

And Harry may have meant what he said when he told her he loved her, but that didn't count for much. Deep down she had always known that. She loved him too. Just because they did didn't guarantee happiness. Love had nothing to do with it.

That last conclusion calmed her down. Even if Ginny and Harry were indeed done (and that was a big if) there was absolutely no indication that Harry had such intentions. So really, in reality, she was terrified about something that in all probability would not happen and Warren's proclamation of Harry 'claiming her' wasn't worth all the emotional turmoil she just put herself through. She laughed at herself inwardly then scolded herself for letting Warren's advice get to her like that. Harry picked it up.

"What's so amusing?"

"Nothing I would ever admit," she surprised herself with her candor.

Harry let her off the hook this time. She was almost sure this whole ring thing was nothing but she couldn't just ask him about it. The last thing she needed was him thinking she was interested in the state of his marriage. Either way she had to take a break. There was only so much closeness she could take.

Finally, she said to him, "This is - strange."

"Unusual strange or creepy strange?"

Harry was always funny in an understated way.

"Strange in a we-really-need-to-talk kind of strange. It's been a long while since I've been this uncomfortable around you."

Maybe she shouldn't have admitted that but it was too late to take it back. Harry didn't seem troubled by it.

He replied, "Only if you reassure me the strange you're referring to isn't my dancing. I don't think I can take the criticism."

That made her laugh.

"I promise it isn't."

They let the song finish. She let go of him but he didn't. He was pulling her, seemingly intent on not losing her. They waded against the invading younger crowd who were responding to the invitation of the more upbeat song that followed. They got out of the developing mosh pit and he asked her where they could find a quiet place to talk.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo watched his Mum and father dance. He couldn't sort out how he felt about it.

"It's okay to be okay with it," Isa said to him quietly.

He took her words in and sighed. He couldn't deal with it right at that moment.. The band was finally shifting gears and playing something that was more to his liking.

"Do you want to dance?" he asked Isa.

Isa smiled.

"It's about time you asked."

XXXXXXXXXX

Al watched his father dance with Aunt Hermione and couldn’t help feeling bad for his Mum. It wasn’t so much that they were dancing but it was how his Dad talked to her and looked at her as they did. It was also how she looked at him.. It had been years since he saw them together and maybe he was too young to notice but it was almost as if his Dad was a different person when he was with her. He was more relaxed and even from where Al was he could see the glint in his father’s eyes.

It was depressing to see it. The only times he had seen his Dad this happy was when they did something he was proud of. With Mum maybe he saw it in some of their earlier photographs but nothing resembling it in recent memory. And he hadn’t seen his Mum this way with his Dad recently either.

He wanted to be angry but he couldn’t justify it and felt even worse. He never thought that his parents were unhappy and maybe they weren't but he was old enough to know there was no forcing happiness on anyone.

Al couldn't watch them anymore. The more he did the more he felt okay about it and to be okay with it was betraying his Mum. He turned his attention to the group of beings he was sitting with and tried to follow the conversation. Marco was assigning which boy would ask which girl when the next song was played. That made him think about Isa.

There was almost zero probability that Isa would dance with him. She was avoiding him and she was good at it too. He had tried to approach her a couple of times but she seemed to have eyes at the back of her head. Both instances she was gone before he could reach her.

Actually, he just wanted to talk, to set the record straight, to tell her that what happened earlier wasn't as it appeared. He had just about given up. Really, he couldn't chase after her all night. And besides, what could he possibly say that would convince Isa he wasn't a jerk?

He tried to distract himself with the festivities but he couldn't keep his mind off of her. The brief time they chatted he found her to be the most unique girl he had ever talked with. She had this unusual sense of humour. She was open, honest, and genuine in every sense of the way.

She was so normal, she was beautiful and being near her stirred intense feelings within him he never felt with anyone else before.

Al sighed as he remembered their near-kiss. If only he had moved faster, taken a bit more initiative, not hesitated at all. Opportunity came and pretty soon it would be gone. After tonight she was going back to Canada and he was going to join his Mum at Shell Cottage. And that will be the end of that.

He looked over to where Isa was dancing with Hugo. His brother was so lucky to have Isa. How Al wished he was Hugo right now.

A crazy thought came to him. Isa probably wouldn't believe him no matter what he said but she would trust Hugo. It was inconceivable that his brother would trust him. And even if Hugo did, what possible reason could his brother have to help? He was desperate but was he that desperate?

Stumped, he sulked, then noticed Marco, Tomas and Juan with wide grins as they passed him a Red Thestral. What now?

"We realize we got you in trouble with Isa earlier so we're going to make it up to you," Marco declared enthusiastically as Juan handed him and Tomas bottles of the local brew.

"No, it's all right, really-" Al declined politely.

They didn't quite hear him.

"We've got it all planned."

"It's not necessary -"

"This will work!"

"I really appreciate - "

"Let's toast and drink!"

Juan clinked bottles with his and motioned him to drink up as Marco and Tomas did. The brew was strong, bitter, and tasted a bit funny but Al drank it bottoms up. Maybe if he got drunk they would get off his back and if not, he'd at least have the courage to blow them off. Or, better yet, the courage to confront Isa and tell her what he wanted to.

His face scrunched up as he swallowed the last of it. The boys were high fiving each other and laughing, never a good sign.

A sudden discomfort washed over him. He doubled over from the pain and staggered to a nearby tree behind them, retching when he got there. He felt like he was being squished in a smaller space. It went on for about five long seconds and when the ordeal was over, he realised too late.

He was Polyjuiced.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione conjured a handful of miniature flames to light their path as they walked up the hill. At some point earlier he finally let go of her hand. The music got less loud further up until they could barely hear it as they reached the peak. They started going down the other side of the slope.

Then they were at the beach. She took off her sandals when her feet touched sand, turned and saw him taking his shoes off too.

"We can leave them here," she told him, setting her footwear beside one of the nearby coconut trees, thinking they'd pick it up when they were finished talking. Harry did as she said and she explained, "Sorry, it's a small village and there's really nowhere private we can talk. You don't mind walking, do you?"

"Not at all."

They walked leisurely side by side. She was waiting for him to start while she figured out a way to ask about Ginny without really asking, but when the silence became awkward, decided to speak.

"How are you finding Pag-asa?"

She was such a coward when it came to Harry.

"Haven't really given it much thought," he was apologetic, "I've been preoccupied with other stuff."

Hermione nodded and this was followed by another stretch of awkward silence. She couldn't stand it.

"What happened at the Ministry? Did you get anything from...?"

He cut her off, "We'll talk shop later, if that's all right with you."

It would be so much easier if all they had to talk about was work.

"What do you want to talk about?"

That was kind of lame. Wasn't she the one who told him they needed to talk? Thankfully Harry did not point that out.

"Hugo."

"Okay."

"I don't know how to do this," Harry admitted.

"Let me help," she offered, knowing how difficult it was for him, "Joint custody, we split summers, Christmas or New Year alternating each year, same with March break. He and his friends usually stay over at the IMAN during Canadian Thanksgiving."

"That wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

His response surprised her and got on the defensive, "Well, that's my best offer."

Harry laughed, quickly disspelling her worst fears, "No, I mean I really haven't thought that far down the road."

"Sorry. I've been prepared for this conversation -almost too prepared. That was embarrassing."

They had a chuckle.

"While we're on that it seems reasonable. I'll take it," he said.

Hermione was relieved and told him, "Here I was worried you'd be angry and insist on him living with you to make up for me keeping him to myself all these years."

"You're right. I should insist on that," he was pulling her leg.

"You wouldn't dare, Potter."

They both had smiles on their faces as they strode along the beach, the waters gently brushing up against their ankles where her conjured light continued to flicker. The quarter moon was up and there was enough skylight that off the shore she could see the silhouette of the adjacent island. He had his hands in his pockets and without a thought she hooked her arm around his.

"It's been hard for him ever since I told hm who he really is," she shared, "I told him you didn't know but for a long time he blamed you. He was angry at you for me and he was angry at you for Lily, Al and James."

"I would be too if I were him. He should be angry at me for not being there for him."

Then she felt Harry's heart sink when he realized why that wasn't the case. Hugo didn't think he needed Harry to be in his life.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, wishing she could tell him that Hugo would come around for sure. She couldn’t put that pressure on Hugo. She added, “That was my fault."

She heard Harry sigh, the kind he usually let out before saying something really difficult. She could feel the heaviness in his heart. She knew his question before he asked it.

His voice broke the soothing sound of waves, “Last night, at Grimmauld, when I said I understood why you didn't tell me about him, you told me I was wrong to think that. I know it happened a long time ago and maybe the 'why' doesn't really matter anymore but I'd like to know anyway.”

He stopped walking, turned to face her and took both her hands into his. She owed him the truth. She looked into his eyes and saw he was eagerly waiting for her answer.

"You would have left them,” she got to the point, “I couldn't let you do that, not after seeing you agonize over the possibility the first time around. I didn't tell you, not because I didn't trust you to do what you thought was best for me and for Hugo, but because I knew you would."

"Would it have been so wrong if I did that?

"As I recall the choice wasn't really between right or wrong but between them or us."

"Maybe, but it was still my choice to make."

"I know."

"It would have been nice if you let me."

"I wasn't very nice. I can’t change what I did, Harry."

“I know.”

As remorseful as she was about hurting him she figured he didn't want to hear her say 'sorry' again. She stepped away from him and signalled for them to walk again.

Once he was beside her she admitted, "I did it for Hugo. I took the choice away from you so I could make a choice for him. I didn't want that life for him. I didn’t want him growing up being blamed for ruining your family. I didn't want that life for us."

Harry nodded, "I remember. You did say you didn't want to be the other woman."

"I could have never given you what Ginny could."

"What exactly was that?"

"A normal family life."

"Well, you're right. That she gave me.”

There was something more to that last remark that he was holding back but Hermione felt like he genuinely understood.

She opened up to him, "Do you know what's frustrating?"

"What?"

"When I did it I was sure I was doing the right thing. and I probably would chose to do the same thing all over again, but ever since I told him there have been many times when I've wondered whether I chose right."

Harry didn't say anything. It meant a lot to her that he didn't blame her or tell her what she should have done.

After some time he asked her another question, "'How long did you figure you would keep him a secret?"

"That went from forever to sometimes thinking I should have told you about him the moment I found out I was pregnant. When I had him I had every intention of leaving London and disappearing with him and Rosie.”

"Disappear where?"

“Where no one would know us, where no one would care, where you wouldn’t find us. I would be horrible to Ron, to you, to my Mum and to them but at least they were too young and wouldn't know any better.”

"Why didn’t you?"

“I realized that I couldn't do it. I couldn't just disappear. I couldn't take Rosie and I couldn't abandon her. So I let Hugo grow up as someone else's son instead"

She started tearing up, thinking about the many challenging days she had with Hugo recently. Harry edged closer to her and took her hand in his.

"I'm worried about him. I'm worried he won't ever see the good in you because of what I did. I'm worried he won't ever see how wonderful magic is because he doesn't want to be in the magical world."

He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

"I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. It may not seem like he appreciates magic but I've seen him use it. He'll realize soon enough that he needs magic to be true to himself. And about not seeing the good in me," Harry seemed embarrassed, "At least you know he’s not easily impressionable. I think that’s a good thing."

Hermione shook her head to tell him she knew he was just saying that to make her feel better.

"When you left us at Grimmauld I took him to Godric's Hollow and I told him about his sister. I told him about what happened to us, about you losing your memory, then regaining it."

"And?"

"It's a lot for a thirteen year old to process."

"It's a lot for me to process," he joshed.

She took her hand away from him to tuck away the non-existent stray strand of hair behind her ear. She continued, hoping he wouldn’t notice how often she did that.

"I think for the first time he felt like his existence was not the accidental result of some irresponsible, lust-filled garish, affair."

That brought a smile to Harry's face.

"What's so amusing?" she had to ask.

"I remember it being lust-filled."

"Fine, I do too but it was never gaudy."

He patronized her, "It was very tasteful. But maybe you should have reassured him that his existence wasn't so much an accidental result of us being irresponsible but a gross failure of spell execution."

"I didn't think it appropriate to go into much detail about that with Hugo but thank you very much for pointing it out."

"I'm glad you flubbed the spell."

Did he really have to say that?

"It annoys me that I seem to have that problem only with you."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You can take it however you like."

Hermione missed this Harry. She missed talking to him like this but she should really try and not flirt with him. She could sense the ease with which they were talking about intimate things that they hadn't in years for good reason. She had to steer their conversation back to safer ground.

She said to him, "Hugo may have said and done things he shouldn't have but he's a good kid, Harry."

That seemed to work. He got semi-serious again.

He nodded and said, "I saw you two dancing. He takes care of you."

"He does. He can be sweet when he puts his mind to it."

"I remember him so differently when he was nine. What's he like nowadays?"

"In many ways he's a typical 13-year-old boy."

"What's he into?"

"Sports and girls," she answered, trying not to express her disapproval of his interest in both.

"Which sports?"

"Hockey, skiing, football in the summer. Mostly Muggle."

"Does he have a girlfriend?"

"No, and I'm glad he doesn't yet but I'm afraid his friend Spencer influences him too much on the matter of girls. He really needs a proper role model. You've met Spencer," she said with a tone of resignation.

"Yes I have."

"Spencer thinks he's God's gift to women."

"Does he really?"

"His uncle is worse. Isa is lovely, though."

"And quite brilliant. She reminds me of you at her age, only much more sociable and less abrasive."

"Gee, thanks."

"Hugo took me to the IMAN. It's impressive."

"How do you mean?"

"For one it's like the size of a not so small village."

Hermione didn’t intend it to be that. She wished it was smaller.

She explained, "We have difficulty keeping our numbers down. Our wait lists for non-magicals and beings is atrocious. It's one of the reasons why we need another campus."

Harry understood, "It’s not surprising. I've seen what Isa and Spencer are capable of. It's truly amazing what the IMAN has given them. In case I haven’t said it before, I’m proud of you."

Harry meant it and his recognition made her feel great.

“I'm glad you approve."

"Hugo told me he wants to be a doctor."

"Did he?" she replied tersely, the matter of Hugo's ambition was a very sensitive point to her at the moment.

"He said you weren't supportive."

She sighed and tried to calm herself down.

"He wants to work like a common Muggle. I'm sorry but he has the gift of magic. I am not letting him do that."

"He won't. You worry too much."

"What boy knows exactly what he wants to be at thirteen?"

Harry rebutted, "Precisely why you shouldn't worry."

"He's serious about it."

"I'm sure he is. But he enjoys doing magic. He won't last one day without a wand doing Muggle work," Harry reassured her, "We should probaby worry more about what Hugo thinks about this prophecy and Malvado. He thinks he's the one. Now that worries me."

Harry had a good point.

Hermione agreed, "That worries me too."

"I suppose you don't think he is the one."

"Harry!"

"Sorry. I couldn’t resist,” Harry admitted, Hermione could just hex him, “So he isn't. Do you think he's capable of irrationally going after Malvado on his own?"

"I wouldn't put it past him. He is half yours."

The comment brought a curious expression to Harry's face.

"What is it?"

"It was just odd hearing you say he's half mine," Harry confessed, "How about talking some sense into him?"

"I did but he does this thing where he lulls you into thinking that he listens but he actually doesn't."

"Am I supposed to feel guilt when you say that? I'm asking because I do."

Hermione really wished he wouldn’t say amusing things like that.

She pressed on, "So I'm not sure if he actually listens but then again even when he doesn't, in spite of poor judgment, he manages to get out of whatever trouble he gets into."

"I'm noticing a theme here," Harry commented. "Does he at least have common sense?"

"Yes, most times, except when he feels strongly about something then he stubbornly will hold on to that idea no matter what."

"That he gets from you."

She nodded regretfully, "Unfortunately."

"I'm starting to feel sorry for him,” Harry was taking all of this in stride, “Did we not give him anything at all that will work to his advantage?"

“He is a natural. And brilliant at magic when he applies himself to it."

Harry grew quiet. Out of the corner of her eye she saw him deep in thought and wondered. Then, sensing her query, he shared it.

“Half yours, half mine.”

Hermione saw, heard and felt his emotions burst through. Pride, joy, relief. She liked very much how that sounded coming from him.

Half yours, half mine.

They continued to walk. They were quite far from where they started out and Hermione suggested that they head back. Harry had no objections. They turned around and walked the same pace they did before.

After some time Harry spoke, sharing a frustration that was probably brewing in him for a while, "I was so stupid not to question that he was Ron's."

She countered with her own, "I was so stupid to accept Ron's offer to be his father."

"That must have been hard. What exactly did you tell him?"

Great. This was going to be fun.

"That Hugo's father was a stranger I met at a bar."

"How could he fall for that?" was Harry’s unfiltered reaction.

"Excuse me?"

"You're not the type."

"You don't think I've ever done it."

It was a bit insulting and she felt challenged, and stupidly so once she fully realized what they were talking about.

Harry was way ahead of her, "I know you've never done it and will never do it, not with a complete stranger."

"Okay."

"Okay what? Am I right?"

"I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

"I am right,” he concluded correctly. "Ron really cares about you. I can't see him doing that for anyone else."

"I know. I feel guilty now. I said some mean things to him that were uncalled for."

"I heard some of the stuff he said to you. He was mean."

She made it clear to Harry, "I deserved it. He was right to be angry at me."

"He did try to hex me right after he read your letter."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Predictable. Wait, has it been three days?"

"He um- set a reminder on his timeteller."

"What did he do to you?" Hermione suddenly became worried.

"Nothing, really. I'm fine."

"Did he hurt you?"

"Hardly at all. He was very apologetic that he had to do something to get his timeteller to shut up."

"If you're not going to tell me I'm going to have to talk to him and that will be very ugly!" she threatened. "He shouldn't have! What you did had nothing to do with him!"

"Actually it kind of did, his ex-wife and his sister," Harry defended Ron, "It was a Stunner. And he held back, a lot. I'm perfectly fine as you can see."

Her eyes narrowed, not completely believing hm. She was going to discuss it with Ron anyway.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Harry tried to convince her, "He's over it and he said he's setting all that aside because of what you said in your letter; that he had to, for Hugo."

"He said that?" she was skeptical.

"He usually does listen to you, eventually."

"Or he knows exactly what to say so I won't stay mad at him."

"That too," Harry conceded, "He means it. He really cares about Hugo and Rosie. And he has always been there for you."

"You're right," she replied, then admitted with frustration, "Only Ron can make me feel guilty, grateful and angry all at the same time."

"That’s Ron; the ultimate test of one's emotional range," Harry pointed out.

They laughed. That was so true. They continued to grin about that for a while until silence grew again.

Then Harry said casually, "Ginny told me she was with you when he was born."

"Did I ever tell you that you married a lunatic?"

She didn't mean for it to be a joke but they laughed about that too. Hermione was almost sure Harry started it and while it wasn't that funny they found it hilarious perhaps because there was a bit of truth in it just like there was a bit of truth in what he said about Ron.

After that wave of inappropriate response Hermione brushed off the tears of laughter and attempted to say something serious, "That time was difficult for her. We were both crazy then."

"Yeah. I’m still trying to decide who was more mental. I kind of lost it when she told me she knew about Hugo all this time."

"You shouldn’t have. I told her not to tell you."

"She did say you asked her not to and that it wasn't her secret to tell. She also said she told you to tell me about Hugo."

Ginny was covering her ass as usual but Hermione wasn't going to say that.

Instead she told him, "That she did, many times. How is she?"

"She's okay," then another pause.

Moving on…

"James and Lily?"

"James felt bad about not being able to help at the Pitch and Lily, well, she isn't talking much, at least not to me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Hermione said to him.

"Ginny said Lily needs time."

"She's right. Lily will come around when she's older and realize things aren't always black and white."

"When do you figure that will be?" he asked.

"Let me see," Hermione just went with the first answer that came to mind, "She's thirteen now and taking into account normal psychosexual development you're looking at six point four years plus or minus two."

"That long?" he was not pleased.

"Well, the sooner she falls completely in love with a man the sooner she'll understand what crazy things people do for love."

"Fall in love, my Lily? I am so not ready for that," then Harry shared his true worry, "What if you're wrong? What if Lily never forgives me?"

Hermione felt even more for him and tried to sat something reassuring, "Never is such a long time, Harry. You're going to live over a hundred years and her the same. She's bound to forgive you at some point. And if it doesn't come then it doesn't and we all have to accept it and live with it."

Harry listened, though it was clear he didn't like the reality check she just gave him.

"I spoke with Al," he said, "He's taking it better than I thought."

"Al's somewhat distracted."

"What do you mean?"

She told him about Isa. That made Harry smile.

"That will get the others off his back. Particularly Rosie, which reminds me. She asked me what my intentions with you were."

"She did not!" Hermione groaned.

"I thought it was actually nice that she was also looking out for you."

"You shouldn't have dignified it with an answer."

"Had to, she wouldn't let me talk to you until I proved to her I had only your best interests at heart."

"What exactly did you tell her?"

"That I had your best intentions at heart."

He left it at that. They had just about covered all the important people in their lives and they had come to this. At some point she knew they had to talk about them. As she weighed the pros and cons of opening up their past Harry did it for them.

Harry said, "I want to say something I hope you don't take it the wrong way."

"I promise I won't."

"Whenever I look back at what I did to you and to Ginny I always felt regret. Not the part about loving you and not the part about regaining my memory. The part I regret the most was that I hurt you and I made you into someone you had no wish become.

"Having that month with you was selfish really. It was all for me, so I could prove to you that it was you who I loved. I thought we could go back in time and pick up from where we left off. It took me forever to accept that I couldn't leave them for us. And in the end my choice didn't prove what my heart knows is true.

"It was wrong but I don't feel as bad about it as I did before. I think it's because for a long time I concluded nothing good ever came out of it. Well something good did. It used to be the darkest moment in my life but now think of it as the one of the brightest. And because of Hugo I don't regret it anymore."

"I'm glad," she replied, tears pooling in her eyes as she thought of Hugo. He wouldn't appreciate this now but when he was older he would, "Thank you for telling me."

She never thought of their short lived affair the way he described it and while she didn’t understood how she could have taken what he just said the wrong way.

"Did you regret it?"

"You mean sleeping with you while you were married to someone else? I enjoyed it thoroughly actually, while we were doing it," she was being silly on purpose, "I never needed proof Harry though I understand why you wanted to prove it. To this day I still believe you did the right thing."

Harry nodded, not so much agreeing with her but acknowledging what she said.

He told her, "After everything that's happened between us Hugo was the last thing I expected. It's like poetic justice."

She had a somewhat different perspective, "Some days it seemed more like fate was having a really bad day and taking it out on us.”

“I see how you could think that.”

“It's going to get ugly before it gets better," she reminded him.

"Maybe, but it'll be fine," Harry said optimistically.

They were getting close to the path back to the village, close enough that they could hear music from the other side of hill. Then Harry stopped walking. She felt his eyes on her, drawing her in, and she found herself in front of him, looking up.

"Happy birthday," he said quietly, seriously, not in the tone one would associate with the greeting.

She looked into his green eyes and felt the conflict within him. It was similar to how he felt that night when he told her that he was chosing to stay with his family, like he didn't want to but he had to.

"Thank you," she replied, trying to reassure him as she did.

"I feel bad. I didn't get a chance to get you anything."

"Don't worry about it."

About that and the other stuff he couldn’t do. Hermione was relieved that he wasn’t going to ask, but acknowledged how that also rubbed her old scar the wrong way.

"That reminds me," Harry dug into his breast pocket and took out a shiny object. "This belongs to you."

She looked down and in the centre of his palm was her locket, the words on it prominent and clear. Jessie had mentioned Harry had it. She wanted it back but considering what that locket meant, she couldn't just ask for it. She needed to know that Harry still wanted her to have it. It was a comfort that Harry did.

"I was looking for that."

"Let me."

He stepped closer and leaned over to attach the clasps of the chain behind her neck. As he did, his fingers brushed lightly against her skin and sent tingling down her spine. It didn't help that his face was so close and that she could smell his cologne. It was taking Harry a long time that she was sure he was finished. She cleared her throat slightly.

"Do you need help with that?"

"No," he replied, his breath falling on her hair. He took half a step back so that they were now facing each other, his eyes holding hers, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Okay."

"Have you worn it all this time?"

"Since I got it," she candidly replied, swallowing the lump in her throat after.

"Why?"

"You did give it to me to wear, didn't you?"

He nodded slightly, a smirk on his face, "I just never figured you actually would."

"Honestly, I couldn't let a perfectly good locket go to waste," she thought to lighten the moment between them.

He found that amusing and it only encouraged him to ask more pointy questions.

"Why did you want me to think Warren was still in your life?"

“Because I didn’t want you to start feeling sorry for me. That and a host of other things I’d rather you didn’t make me admit right now.”

"Do I still make you uncomfortable?"

"Pretty much."

"Do you want me to stop?"

"I don't think it's all you but I'd rather it did stop."

There was something in the moment that prevented her from lying to him. They were going down this slippery road together and like her he wasn't sure if that was the way to go.

He sighed, and said her, "Tell me what to do."

It was a plea. His eyes read her face and fell on her lips, waiting for an answer. His desire was transparent; he wanted to kiss her.

Hermione wanted him to kiss her so she could kiss him back. Not a second after she thought that thought she found herself looking into his eyes and letting him in, fully and completely, the way she had never let anyone in but him.

She gave in to her emotions and let them lead her. Any discomfort she felt with Harry's proximity went away. It was okay to feel this way about him. It was okay to let him know that she loved him still like he was showing her he loved her still.

His lips touched hers. It was tender, delicate, cautious as if he didn't want to hurt her. She kissed back the same way, their mouths caressed each others with the familiarity of old lovers and the uncertainty of old friends feeling each other out.

He pulled her closer while she brought her arms around his neck, tilting her head to meet his need to deepen their kiss. Her lips parted on his request. She felt his control slipping away, hers too as she swooned in the pleasure of his mouth having its way with hers. It was more passionate than their last but more importantly, it sprang of hope instead of the bottomless despair it had back then.

This was not an impulse for him. He was sure about this and he could live with this choice. And because he could, she could.

She pressed herself against him and let him hold her closer even more. Her fingers got lost in his hair while the hungry beast gnawing in the bottom of her gut grew bigger and bolder with each moment. She matched his arduous kissing with like passion, sharing with him the limited breaths they took in between, neither wanting to be the one to pull back first.

Finally they did, reluctantly. The emotions they had just set free left them so overwhelmed they had tears in their eyes. They rested their foreheads against each other as they recovered. She was on her toes. Harry had pulled her up and was holding her against him. His heart was pounding as hard and as fast as hers and it didn't seem he had any intention of letting her go.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. {sigh of relief}

Would love some feedback…am dying to hear how I did with this one.

And just wanted to share that I thought DH was just lovely (most of it was). Can’t wait for the summer.

63. Desperate Moves

A/N. Here it is finally - I desperately needed to get this out. The rewrites were driving me insane.

I'm really sorry that I kept you all waiting. I had to get this right.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 63 - Desperate Moves

Hugo slipped out from the group to find his father. He tried to distract himself as Warren suggested but it was pointless. His mind kept coming back to Malvado and that meeting with the Hag. He desperately needed to know what she said.

The last time Hugo saw the Auror he was leaving the plaza with his Mum. Taking the same path they did, he stayed on it and greeted a few town folk along the way. He walked on for at least half an hour, the path becoming narrower and more deserted over time. He continued until he came up to a fork in the trail at the top of the hill. While deciding which one to take, it came to him just how foolish his plan was.

The Auror could be anywhere; he could have left Pag-asa. And if he hadn't left Pag-asa the chances of him not being with Mum were slim, which meant the chances of the Auror telling Hugo what the Hag said were less than zero.

Hugo had to talk to his father alone but sending him a message was proving to be a challenge. A Patronus was beyond his magical capabilities and he had been too proud to accept his father's phone number. The speediest way, he figured, would be through Warren. Warren would know.

Come.

He looked around. There was nobody but him.

Come.

Hugo heard it again. It was Warren's voice. It was coming from the dense foliage of trees and shrubs to his left. He stepped forward and, with the tip of his wand, slowly parted the banana leaves in front of him. The light he had could only go so far but far enough to get a glimpse of a Patronus disappearing deeper into the woods. It was a wolf, a silvery grey wolf. Warren's.

Follow me.

Warren's voice urged him. It didn't make sense. Was it really Warren? Why didn't Warren just come to him? Red flags were popping up in his mind but as he was sorting them out his feet started moving on their own.

Quickly!

He was running. He felt that he had to, like it was a compulsion. The thick bushes were cutting his arms but he had to hurry. He didn't know why but he didn't want to lose the figure. Barely able to catch up, he ran in the general direction of where the Patronus appeared intermittently in between the trees.

Then Hugo lost it. Warren's guiding voice was replaced by amplified sounds of his feet crushing the dried leaves and twigs on the forest ground and the creatures surrounding him, so loud that he could hear everything over the banging in his chest.

Hugo stopped running to reorient himself. He listened and watched, catching his breath. Off to his right, beyond several rows of coconut trees, was the image he had been chasing. It had stopped. Hugo was weighing the pros and cons of approaching when it turned and saw him.

Intense fear gripped Hugo that very instant. The eyes staring at him were aflame, uniquely terrifying and memorable. He had seen them once before. They were eyes that belonged to Salazar Malvado.

XXXXXXXXX

Al overheard Marco, Tomas and Juan talking.

"Wow! He looks exactly like him," Juan was in awe.

"I guess Polyjuice does work. What's the plan?" Tomas asked Marco.

Marco replied, "What do you mean what's the plan? This was your idea!"

"Didn't you suggest it?"

They continued arguing. The pain was gone now but Al couldn't see well. Everything was out of focus. He took out his wand and conjured a reflective surface. Even with the bad eyesight he made out who he was Polyjuiced into.

"What were you thinking?" he confronted them.

"No need to panic or get upset," Marco waved him off.

"No need?! I could hex all three of you!"

"Calm down," Tomas tried to soothe him.

"Why?!"

"We're just trying to help. Isa doesn't want to talk to you but she likes Hugo," Juan answered with logic.

"And what do you think she'll do if she catches me pretending to be him?!"

"Er...um...okay, then you better not get caught."

Al turned away before really losing it with Juan. He paced.

Think. How do you fix this?

Al wasn't going to wait for the Polyjuice to wear off. Only Merlin knew when that would happen. He had to do something before anyone else found out and the quickest way to becoming himself again was to take anti-Polyjuice. There was a good chance there would be some at their potion source.

"Where did you get the Polyjuice?" Al asked the three.

"Well, um, we'd rather not say," Marco responded guiltily.

"I'm not going to tell on you, just tell me where you stole it."

"In there," Marco pointed up the hill.

Warren's hut.

XXXXXXXXXX

At home, Jessie sat anxiously beside Padma and could barely listen to Ron as he updated the Hogwarts gang on where things were at with the POTH, the Hallows and Malvado. She was dead tired, had not spoken with Seamus since he was dropped off by Dovalov at the Ministry, and the only thing she really wanted right now was for the meeting to finish so she could be alone with her husband.

"So, the Prophet elf, the store owner and Grawp were POTH," Neville summarized, "And Malvado wants the Russian Auror, the former MLE and Hermione dead to ensure the Hallows aren't found."

"Precisely," Ron confirmed, "Except for the Elder wand. He wants the Deathstick for himself. That's why he is looking for the Keeper."

"Do we know who the Keeper is?" Hannah asked.

"We think it was Professor Flitwick. Since both Hermione and Gummy deny being the Keeper that leaves us with Dovalov," George Bones answered.

Ron added, "Or someone else, like whoever it was who posed as Seamus and was with Dovalov at the Pitch."

Though it didn't seem so at first, the POTH were on their side. As proof, they left Seamus unharmed and lent Harry the Stone. In light of Hermione's physical state at the time Dovalov's visit to the Pitch with Seamus' impersonator was now speculated as the POTH's attempt to make contact with Harry. However, the nature of their organization still prevented them from revealing themselves to the public and, as such, continued secrecy was required. Luckily with Llamas and the two Malvado assassins now in custody, the case files of the robberies and murders in London could be closed without the need to mention the POTH. As for the other Hallows, they remained hidden and it was uncertain if the POTH had any intentions of lending them to Harry or anyone else.

"Are the rumours true? Did Hermione really resurrect from the dead?" Dennis asked the question.

Ron looked to her for help.

"She's not 'one of them'," she tried not to sound annoyed that Dennis listened to the hogwash the Unspeakables started, "She was badly hurt and to buy time a few of her creative associates staged a death that fooled all of us. Needless to say this information is not to leave this room. Hermione says it is important that Malvado not find out about her friends, for their safety. On record she did all this on her own."

She, Harry and Ron had talked about how much to tell the gang taking into account all of Hermione's requests for secrecy. They recognized that the integrity of Harry's circle was compromised. The more people knew the details the more access Malvado had to them. But in the end Harry decided it was only proper to tell them what they knew.

"How is she?" Padma voiced out, concerned.

"Well enough to blow off the Head Healer at St. Mungo's,” Ron expressed his displeasure at Hermione's decision not to let the experts examine her.

Jessie paraphrased, “Considering what she went through it's a miracle she's still alive."

Hannah had been dying to ask Ron a question and she just found the opening to blurt it out, “Did you know Hugo wasn't your son?”

“Yes, I did,” Ron shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

She said to her husband, “I told you so.”

Neville, somewhat reluctantly, followed up, “Did you know he was Harry's?”

Seamus answered for Ron, “And be okay with it all this time? Do you have to ask?”

The off topic discussion got out of control and went downhill from there.

Neville shrugged and defended his question, “Well, he knew Hugo wasn't his son.”

“There's a huge difference between knowing that and knowing he's Harry's,” the usually quiet George Bones weighed in.

“How different is that?”

"This is very awkward,” Ron had enough, “I'd rather you guys talked about this behind my back."

Ron's request fell on deaf ears.

“I'm just saying it would be absurd if he did,” Seamus replied.

Neville challenged, “So you don't think he knew Harry and Hermione had an affair.”

“Definitely not.”

“I'm right here," Ron waved at them.

"Ginny must have known," Padma thought out loud.

Hannah concurred, "I always wondered why she and Hermione rarely spoke to each other."

Almost never spoke, to be more accurate.

"That's one good reason. Poor Ginny. Must have been hard to take Harry back. How could they do that to her?"

"Things like this happen more often than we think."

"They knew it was wrong. They stopped."

"Doesn't make it right."

“Ron, did you know about the affair?”

“No, I didn't.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Yeah, Ron, how do you feel about that?"

This gang's curiosity about Hugo and the affair was natural but Ron didn't expect this inquisition. Jessie had to admit it was somewhat entertaining. She too wanted to hear what Ron had to say.

"Wait, stop!” Ernie, spoil sport, interrupted, “I'm sure Ron would prefer that private matters be discussed in a more private manner. We need to focus here. I'm still not clear on many things. Do we know who impersonated Seamus? What about Jurnuk? Was he POTH too or was his murder unrelated to this? What did Hermione say about them?"

The tension in the room increased a hundredfold. Ernie's tone of questioning made everyone uncomfortable.

Jessie answered, "Hermione didn't say anything."

"Did someone even ask?" Ernie followed up.

"She can't talk about the POTH," Ron took Hermione's side, "And besides, who the POTH are and what they're doing is no longer our concern. We have bigger fish to cook."

Dennis corrected, “You mean fish to fry.”

"So, that's it. The POTH is now off limits because Hermione's alive?" Ernie sounded very frustrated.

"Do you have a problem with that?" Seamus had it and confronted Ernie.

It was then that Ernie lost it.

"I have a problem when we're putting our lives and reputations on the line and she doesn't even give us the courtesy of telling us the entire truth!"

Seamus, restrained somewhat by Ron, stood up for Hermione fiercely, "She can't tell us!"

"How do we even know that she's telling the truth about the Fidelus and the Unbreakable vow?!"

"We know because we know her and we trust her just like we know and we trust Harry and every person at this table," Neville spoke up, "Ernie, we understand how difficult this has been for you. You don't have to be here if you don't want to be here."

Everyone's eyes were on Ernie, most of them sympathetic Ernie too had been a victim of an imposter while he was in the Ministry jail. The MLE deputy head had been quiet until this outburst and Jessie could only imagine what he was going through. Ernie's reputation had taken quite a hit with what transpired at the Pitch and at Finnigan's. While he wasn't responsible for the acts the fact that he had been easily replaced by someone pretending to be him didn't reflect well on his abilities. It was the sort of thing that people remembered forever and probably meant the end of his political career.

Ernie got up, gathered his belongings and apologized in his own way, "I can't do this anymore. Tell Harry I'm sorry."

As they heard the front door close George looked on to Ron for direction. Ron waved him off. They were going to let Ernie go.

"Is he going to be okay?" Padma was worried for Ernie.

"Let's give him space. He'll come around."

Jessie wasn't as hopeful as Ron but she supposed he knew Ernie better than she did. The tension cleared and brought them some much needed focus. During the next fifteen minutes she took the floor and fielded questions about the being who took over Humptail's body.

The plan had been to dissect Llamas to figure out Malvado's weakness. Things were going well until Llamas asked for his one owl. That led to a rare intellectual discussion between the Aurors and the Unspeakables.

Ron argued that Llamas was actually 'dead' and that he had commandeered a viable human body illegally in an inferi-like fashion. In that case the Ministry was obliged to free the carcass, Humptail's, from unauthorized occupation. Being dead, Llamas had no rights.

Max and the Unspeakables were not about to rubber stamp any idea that came from the Aurors. They argued, and Jessie agreed with their first point somewhat, that since Llamas was talking and moving, he was alive. Unless the true owner of the body complained, who was to say that the possession wasn't mutually agreed upon as claimed by Llamas.

Ron countered, and she agreed too, that any being whose head gets blown apart and re-forms can't possibly be alive. As a scientist there was comfort in being able to depend on that truth so she was keen on proving it. She wasn't completely satisfied with the explanation she received about the being who had temporarily resided in her freezer and at some point she would get to the bottom of that but right now they needed irrefutable evidence of Humptail's demise. Humptail meeting criteria for physical death would certainly make things less complicated.

The alternative was frightening. Amending the definition of physical death because of these beings had astronomical implications and nobody really wanted to go there, not even the Unspeakables. Harry had to bring the legal department in. They sat on the fence between the two sides, finally suggesting that her office sort the mess out.

While things didn't go as planned, Harry seemed unperturbed. It gave her access to do tests anyway. They had a very small window to prove or disprove life in Humptail's body, and find out more about the being's powers. She had her staff run tests and then slipped out of her lab so she could go to this meeting and see Seamus in private.

Ron closed the meeting with a promise of more updates if necessary.

"Glad you're okay, mate," Neville shook her husband's hand as he and Hannah said goodbye, "I'm quite relieved that it wasn't you who jinxed me."

"Me too," Ron interjected, "Otherwise I would have had to arrest your arse and then answer to your wife."

Seamus, Neville, Padma, Dennis and George laughed at the joke. Jessie could only force out a smile. Neville and Hannah Disapparated a few feet from their front porch.

Dennis pledged to continue his spying on the Head Unspeakable as he left. Max and his relationship with Dovalov had not been sorted out either and the relevance of the tragedy that George dug up in Dovalov's old home was still unknown. It was very unsettling to know that the Head Unspeakable was possibly possessed by a spirit decades ago. Keeping an eye on Max was important not only because he had more power now than when Humptail and Jericho were around but also because the Aurors would be lost if they didn't spy on what the Unspeakables.

Padma and George reported back to the Ministry to do more work on the Llamas-Malvado case. She would join them later. Ron was off to see Anne and the twins at Shell Cottage where Ted had remained by request.

Finally, the last of their friends Disapparated and there was just her and Seamus. She hadn't had the opportunity to fully process the events that transpired but something about Seamus' story didn't feel right. Being abducted by a Russian ex-Auror, left in some unknown location, impersonated for access to Harry's inner circle, then dropped off at the Ministry unharmed seemed too neat and tidy. Dovalov and Gummy conveniently disappeared leaving her with many questions she was certain Hermione wouldn't answer. She had a feeling that her husband was lying and was conflicted about what to do.

Seamus walked up to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, warm, familiar, comforting. She closed her eyes as he kissed her hair with deep affection. If she asked the question she would settle for nothing less than the truth. In a way the future of their marriage would then rest on Seamus' answer. Was she prepared for all possible outcomes?

"Tell me what really happened," her words came out in a whisper.

Seamus looked her in the eye and answered, full of regret, "Jess, I'm sorry. I'm not the Keeper."

She swallowed the lump in her throat.

"You're POTH."

"I can't talk about that."

"I suppose you can't tell me who the Keeper is either."

He didn't say anything.

"It was you who hexed Neville and it was you at the Pitch,” she concluded, then it dawned on her, “You could have been seriously hurt!"

"Please," he begged her, "We can't talk about this."

“You could have been killed!"

Seamus yelled at her, desperate, "I am not the Keeper!"

Her head felt like it was going to explode. All she could think about was that he lied to her about it and possibly about many other things. Her husband had been living a double life and she couldn't help but feel cheated. Worry, frustration and anger filled her and seeing Seamus looking so apologetic and helpless only made her feel worse.

She told him, "I need to go."

Jessie grabbed her cloak and purse, and then headed out the door.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry didn't want to let her go.

When he asked her to dance he had not seen this happening. He had expected them to talk but never imagined she would end up in his arms.

With affection he brushed the wetness off her cheek. They gazed into each others' eyes, raw emotions swirling within them.

"Don't get me wrong,” she broke their silence, “I really enjoyed what we just did but this complicates things."

"You think so?" he asked, and when she made a concerned affirmative gesture, disagreed, "I think this actually simplifies things."

She frowned somewhat.

"How so?"

"Let me explain."

He pulled her closer, leaning down until their lips touched. They kissed to their hearts' content. It was unfair to take advantage of her openness tonight but he didn't want her to run away from him again. Harry needed her to feel this. He missed her, he missed being with her like this and judging from Hermione's actions she felt the same. To him it was that simple.

Hermione broke it off, her eyes smouldering with the same feverish passion he felt.

"I didn't get that," she said somewhat breathless.

"No?" he too was out of breath.

"We should probably discuss this in a more conventional manner, before we go any deeper."

"You mean further."

"That too."

Hermione extricated herself from his embrace and stepped back. He had a feeling her current compliant state wasn't going to last long and he was right. Regret had set in, her rational self was about to mount a quick comeback and douse them with a sobering dose of reality. Harry was prepared for this, for what was to happen when he crossed the line he swore not to cross again.

"I know what you're thinking,” he said to her, “You're thinking this is mental. You're thinking I shouldn't be doing this."

"We shouldn't be doing this," she corrected, "Harry, this is not the real world. We're in a bubble. We won't last a day outside of it."

"Maybe this time we will."

"It's been a stressful past few days,” she was giving him an out, “You're finding out so many new things. Understandably you want to make it up to me and Hugo and..."

He cut her off to correct her erroneous assumption, "This isn't about the past. This is about the here and now."

“No offense but you're obviously not thinking straight."

"Not thinking straight feels great," he responded carelessly.

"Harry..." she scolded him.

"I'm listening."

"We keep coming back to this choice of us or them and I can't get past the thought of choosing what I know will hurt them which will hurt you.”

“You worry too much about everyone else, never enough about you."

"Let's not fool ourselves, Harry. You can't do this to them,” Hermione said with brutal frankness, “You didn't leave them then and you won't leave them now. Not for this.”

“Things are different,” Harry tried to explain and she assumed he meant Hugo.

“If we do this James, Al and Lily will look at us and think we're selfish. You'll be the bad guy again and it'll be more difficult to fix what's been broken. This isn't right."

It was hard to refute the truth in what she said. But in spite of her making so much sense he argued back with good reasons of his own.

"Not doing this isn't right either.”

“Then it isn't the right time.”

“If now's not the right time then there won't ever be one,” Harry argued, “There will always be someone who won't be happy for us."

"You could lose Lily," she reminded him.

"Let's face it. I've lost her already," he voiced out the painful reality, "I love Lily. She, James and Al mean the world to me and I will try everything to get her back. But if she can't forgive me for loving someone other than her mother then it's too late. She knows and nothing I do or don't do will change that. Not being with you will not change that.

"Hermione, I can't do it your way anymore. I can't live my entire life not making choices because of fear that I'll hurt and lose the people I care about. At some point I have to trust that they'll care enough about me to accept my choices no matter how much they disapprove."

"Lily is too young to see that. Being with me will make things worse. I am not worth it."

"You are worth it and it's about time that you see that. I don't want to look back years from now and have regrets again. And I agree somewhat, this may seem like it's the worst time to be doing this. It all feels rushed and impulsive and insane that it can't be right. I'm rambling ... I didn't come here tonight to do this. I just wanted to talk. But Hugo, the locket, you..."

He paused to take a breath in and slow his thoughts down, then spoke with a deliberate calmness, "This is how I feel about you, how I've always felt about you. It's been a long time since I've let myself feel it without guilt and without regret. It feels amazing to be finally free to let you know how I feel. I can't pretend anymore, not when I don't have to, and especially not when I know you feel the same way about me. Yes, I know things are different, we're different, and we may not have the same thing we had or get to the same place we were twenty years ago but we can't know that until we try. I want to try. Hermione, it's my turn to make a choice for us. Let me."

She was crying and she fell into his waiting embrace. She just figured out what he had difficulty telling her.

"She let you go."

"We let each other go," he confirmed, stroking her hair.

“Oh Harry…”

She felt bad for him, her eyes and the tone of her voice said so, so much that she was making him feel bad that he really didn't need comforting about it. The break up had happened so long ago that he wasn't as upset about it anymore.

"Because of Hugo?" Hermione asked, worried.

He shook his head and reassured her, "We've been separated for months. It wasn't because of Hugo."

"But the Bahamas...?"

"To end it where it began," he explained.

Hermione had a thoughtful expression, as if she was working something out.

"That explains the ring.”

“The ring?”

Hermione blushed as she held up his hand where his wedding ring used to be. Harry remembered that Hermione never missed much.

“What happened?”

Harry didn't really want to get into it and told her honestly, “It's a long story. I'll tell you some other time, okay?”

“The children? Do they know?" she asked, still concerned.

"James overheard me and Ginny discussing it over the summer. He knows. We were going to tell Al and Lily next weekend."

And he left it at that. The telling Al and Lily part was somewhat up in the air now. He would prefer that they waited a bit, until this news about Hugo blew over, and Ginny seemed in agreement.

“Harry," Hermione said seriously, "I hate to say it but being with each other is not going to simplify this at all.”

"No it's not,” Harry agreed, “But it's simpler than it was in the past."

Hermione looked away and they grew silent. She was working things out in her mind, the very same ones he worked through earlier. As much as he wanted her to come to the same conclusion he did he didn't want to crowd her. He felt no pressure. He gave it his best shot and it was up to her now. And whatever her decision was he was prepared to accept it.

After a while he heard her say, “I don't want to get hurt again, Harry.”

Harry felt awful that she was justified to think he would hurt her again. And as much as he wanted to he couldn't make any guarantees. She'd have to sort out for herself if she was going to trust him again to give him another chance.

“I know.”

Hermione looked at him, still questioning his certainty and his resolve. Wordlessly he set her mind at rest. It was reasonable that deconstructing the emotional barriers between them would take some time but he was determined to make things right. Things were going to work out for the best. He felt in his heart that they would.

“Harry, I…”

She stopped talking, distracted. She turned around with a curious frown. Someone was heading their way. Not five seconds later Warren appeared from beyond the shadows behind her, swearing to himself, mumbling something about sand in his shoes.

"Sorry. This couldn't wait," Warren apologized when he got to them, shoe in hand, shaking the sand off.

"What is it?" Hermione asked, seemingly perplexed about something more than the news Warren came with.

"Maria picked up a Malvado spy while patrolling the perimeter a few minutes ago,” Warren picked up his other shoe and emptied it too, “Her recommendation to abandon the village was just rejected. The Elders want to talk to you."

XXXXXXXXX

"How could you let him wander off by himself like that?" Isa huffed at Spencer.

"I'm sorry," her friend feigned an apology, "I didn't get the memo that Hugo was under house arrest."

Isa ignored his sarcasm, very worried, "He's been gone for more than forty-five minutes. We don't know where he is. He hasn't attempted to make contact and we can't get a hold of him. What if something bad happened? We can't just sit here and wait for him to come back."

Rosie must have noticed her distress for she came up and asked, "What's going on?"

Spencer shared what they knew, "Hugo left to find Mr. Potter forty-five minutes ago and he isn't back."

"I just saw Uncle Harry with Mum and Warren. Hugo wasn't with them," Rosie replied, also concerned, "I'll help you find him. Has either of you seen Al? Maybe he can help."

Spencer, with his unusual hearing range, answered her, "I overheard the locals say something about going to Mr. Gates' hut for some special juice."

XXXXXXXXXX

Jessie stood over the rapidly decaying body of Hosiah Humptail. She should be more pissed that the invincible being escaped and before she could do more invasive testing but fear and worry trumped pride. This was not good on so many levels.

“What happened?” Ron queried the second he walked into the lab, “Where is he?”

“It would appear that the being has left this particular vessel,” Jessie explained the obvious.

“How do you know that?”

Jessie rolled the lab security video of a wizard gaining access into her lab and chatting with the prisoner just before the latter literally coughed up a small object into the man's mouth and keeled over.

“Ew!” Ron expressed verbally, matching the disgusted look he had on his face. He then recognized the wizard who walked away from Humptail and exclaimed in disbelief, “Ernie?!”

Jessie wasn't sure. She wasn't sure about many things anymore.

“My biometric scans picked up his signature on his way in. Ernie has full security clearance and access to the lab, which explains why no flags were raised. But it doesn't make sense. Ernie knows we're watching.”

"So either he's really lost it or your scan is wrong," Ron concluded.

That wouldn't be the first time. Because of Warren's recent access into the identity database to switch Hermione's file with another being's Jessie made sure that the database had not been tampered with this time. She also crossmatched the intruder's magical traits with Ernie's non-Ministry records. It was 99% Ernie's. The other worrisome thing was, whoever it was, his signature did not change on his way out.

Jessie pointed out, "In theory, biomorphs can confuse biometric scans.”

“And who do we know is a biomorph?"

Ron was thinking the same thing she was. But did Warren really do this? As capable as Warren was she couldn't imagine it. What just transpired was the epitome of stupidity or the height of desperation. Warren was never prone to either.

"We have to find Ernie,” Ron said to her then gave the order to a couple of Aurors, "Either way Harry's not going to like this. Do we have anything at all that we can use?"

"Am on it."

XXXXXXXXXX

Ted had always considered Shell Cottage as one of his many homes. Even before he started dating Tory, her parents treated him well. Come to think of it, all the Weasleys did. He knew that was partly because he didn't have parents and everyone felt sorry for him but part of it was because they were good folk.

So, while Ted was somewhat surprised by the frosty reception he got when he arrived he didn't take it against them. Uncle George and Aunt Ginny were the exception, they acted 'normal'. Tory's dad was not his usual welcoming self and her Mum was in near tears when she saw him. That seemed odd until Tory told him the news.

Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny were separated; they had been for a few months and had decided to make it permanent. The fact that Aunt Ginny announced it so close to the news about Hugo fuelled speculation that it was the final straw, even though she had apparently known about the affair at the time it happened. So after years of being likened to his godfather and reaping all its positive rewards it was difficult to escape being painted in the same stroke they were painting him now. Her parents were irrationally worried that what happened to Uncle Harry and Aunt Ginny would happen to them to, and already it was determined to be his fault.

Tory's mood had been mostly subdued since his arrival. There were no questions about where he was and what happened and how long he would stay. He had just spent a couple of hours patrolling the perimeter and ensuring the protective charms around Shell Cottage were intact. When he got back it was past ten and he found Tory in bed lying on her side. Her eyes were closed but she wasn't asleep. She had been waiting for him.

She sensed him. Her eyes fluttered open and met his gaze. He joined her in bed, facing her, wondering.

Did she think he was capable of hurting her that way?

After studying him for a while she said, "I'm sorry."

Puzzled, he asked, "For what?"

"For not standing up to Dad and Mom. For not reminding them that you're not Uncle Harry and that you'd never do that to us."

He breathed out a sigh of relief, "Apology accepted."

"Everybody keeps looking at me with pity as if I'm Aunt Ginny," she said with frustration.

"We can leave."

He brushed the tears that fell on her face as she shook her head slightly, "No. I can take it. It's just annoying."

She snuggled up to him and rested her head on his chest.

"Aunt Ginny told me it'll pass and that I should ignore them."

"Sound advice."

Something else was causing her distress, "She knew about the affair when it happened. I don't think I could ever do what she did. Take him back like that."

"You don't have to worry. It won't ever come up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

"Would you forgive me if I had an affair?"

Ted didn't need to think about the question, "If you asked for it and were really sorry, definitely."

"Really?" Tory didn't quite believe him.

"Of course I'd be in Azkaban for murdering the bastard who touched you, so I'd rather you didn't do that."

The way Ted said it made her laugh.

Tory swore to him, "I promise I won't."

"Good. That's settled then."

"I'll talk to Mum and Dad, maybe they'll back off," she declared, and he knew that even though it would be a difficult conversation she would.

He said to her, "You don't have to."

"But they're wrong."

"We'll let them figure that out. I don't care what they think,” he assured her, though that wasn't entirely true. He wanted her prepared for the possibility that her parents would never see it differently, “You're all that matters to me. You and our baby."

Ted rested his hand on her belly and rubbed it gently. He felt her tummy push back making his eyes widen with excitement.

"Was that...?" he didn't quite finish when it happened again.

Tory was laughing, amused by his reaction.

"Yes, Teddy. That's our baby."

She was happy and he was happy that she was. He loved his wife deeply and completely. He leaned down and kissed her to make sure she had no doubts about that.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry and Warren were watching Hermione from afar. She was with the Elders at their table, keeping Maria's temper in check and hopefully giving the village leaders good advice on what to do about Malvado's impending attack.

"How much time do we have?" Harry asked Warren.

"Sunrise at best."

That was five hours away and if Malvado found out his spy was made much less than that. He looked at the dozens of women, children and elderly still enjoying the party, oblivious to what was about to happen. Harry assessed their chances against Malvado and his battle tested army. Staying here would get a lot killed.

"Do they have anywhere to go?"

Warren answered, "There are a few safehouses but most do not support the multi-being cohabitation you see here. Some would have to scatter and go into hiding on their own like they did before Pag-asa."

Harry had asked Hermione to pass along to the elders the ministry's assistance. Malvado was no longer just a local threat. He was certain he could convince the Wizengamot to approve the operation. However, Hermione cautioned him not to get ahead of himself. Foreign government assistance was always viewed with scepticism here. Any help they got cost them something. It was unlikely the elders would accept the offer, as generous it was. But she did say she would try.

“The beings will stay and defend. It's pride and they're fools,” Warren judged harshly. “She's not going to walk away from this.”

“Nor should we.”

“Relax, I have no intention of abandoning ship, even though it's obviously sinking,” Warren retorted, "But do you honestly think she will let you fight this fight? You are the Minister for Magic, Head Auror, and most of all, you are Hugo's father. This is a lost cause. She knows it. Regardless of what she told you she will find a way for you not be here."

Harry hated to admit it but Warren was probably right.

"You have to talk to her," Warren interrupted his thoughts.

"About what?"

“I know you,” Warren said plainly, “You're not going to let her fight this on her own. You need to be smarter about this than she is. You can do it the hard way but you will need all three Hallows to defeat Malvado.”

So Warren wanted him to talk to Hermione about the other two. Harry doubted very much that the advice was as selfless as Warren made it out to be.

“Her hands are tied.”

“Not that tied. She convinced the POTH to lend you the Stone. She can do the same with the rest. She will not entrust them to anyone except you but she needs to know that you want them.”

"You've got zero credibility,” Harry said frankly, “Why would I listen to you?"

"Because you know I'm making sense. You've seen what Malvado is capable of. If you had trouble with Llamas Malvado is ten times more powerful than him. The Hallows used by the right person is the only way to keep him at bay, to defend against his attack and to buy time to figure out how to permanently decommission him. There are no alternatives. And he's coming for Hermione and Hugo. I'm sure you don't want what happened to your father to happen to you? Dying for your family is great and all but sucks because you won't be around to celebrate their survival."

Warren was always good at mind games. So far he was indeed making sense.

"And when would you like me to hand the Hallows over to you?"

Warren laughed, "We both know that's never going to happen. So when you do get them watch your back."

"If she wanted me to have the Hallows and she could get them to me I would have them already."

"Yeah you'd think that,” Warren said in his annoying I-know-Hermione-better-than-you tone, “Any other person she'd tell them exactly what she wants done and give them whatever they need to do it but that's not how she operates when it comes to you. With you she's conflicted. On the one hand she desperately needs your help with Malvado but on the other hand she thinks you've risked your life enough in your lifetime so she doesn't want to impose."

"Seriously? I'm an Auror. Risking my life is what I do for a living."

"Precisely why she doesn't want to impose. I don't ever argue with her about how she thinks, not enough time in the world, unless it adversely affects me. But you can take that up with her if you want," Warren continued, "Anyway, using me as bait Jericho sucked her into this case and a year later she finds that she's way in over her head. She can't stop Malvado. Worse, she's run out of time. Malvado not only starts killing off POTH to find the Keeper to get to the wand, now he's after her and Hugo because of the prophecy.

"When Hermione set the POTH up she vowed never to use the Hallows and to remove them from this world but she never imagined it would come to this. She never thought she would need the Hallows to protect her son. She painted herself into a corner and now that she needs to get out she can't. She shouldn't have given them up, at least not completely.

"You're the only one she will trust with them. She'll get them to you but she needs to know that you want them. You have to insist. Like any decision you make that involves her she needs to be convinced you're doing it because you want to and not because you have to. And don't ever give her ideas that it's both even if it is. That will just mess her up."

"I'm not yet convinced she thinks we need the Hallows," Harry said truthfully, "I'm not convinced myself."

Warren let out an exasperated sigh.

"Then you're all fucked."

"What's that to you? You're not helping Hermione get rid of him. Why do you care if we use the Hallows or not?"

"Actually I don't. If you really think about it this doesn't matter. Everybody dies eventually and if it's not Malvado doing the oppressing it's some other evil being or some government. So no, I don't really care."

“If you don't care then why are you still here?”

"I find this all entertaining. It's a great way to pass time.”

“I get it,” Harry made his assessment, “You're playing both sides. You've betrayed Hermione just enough so Malvado doesn't kill you and you've betrayed Malvado just enough so Hermione will hang on to the pointless hope that you will eventually choose to do the right thing. You're juggling lie after lie and now you've got so many up in the air you're making mistakes. You've obviously decided to be a coward and not pick a side."

Warren showed no emotion, "You forget who I am. I have no loyalties. And you can't insult me or make me feel guilty."

“If she wants you around, I can't tell her otherwise. For now I'm going to assume that you're still here because you care about her enough that you want to see her through this alive. But the next time you do something that contradicts that assumption I'm going to arrest you."

"You're not going to do that."

"Try me."

Warren retreated somewhat then started up again.

"Did she tell you what I did that night?"

He was referring to the reason for his apology that night Hermione awoke at Grimmauld.

"Not yet, huh. I guess she doesn't think you'll understand."

It was pointless to talk with the asshole, especially when 99% of what came out of his mouth were half-truths and flat out fabrications. All he could think of at the moment was hex Warren into complete silence. He had to remember that Warren was just trying to incite him into some response he would later regret. That or he was desperate for something Harry had yet to figure out.

And because Harry wasn't talking Warren naturally blabbed on.

"No question, I betrayed her trust. Breaking the Fidelus we discussed but she never expected that curse. Boy, was Hermione pissed when I disarmed her and took her wand,” Warren paused, looking for some reaction, “Malvado was on the offensive. She could have lost it to him and I couldn't leave that to chance. It has been a long time since she used the Deathstick, nobody knows if it still recognizes a master but I must say that for someone who insists the transfer of the mastery of the wand through acts of violence is all hypothetical she certainly tried taking it back soon enough. And she knows about our fight at Gracie's. If she hasn't cursed you yet then that proves that she wants you to use the Hallows. Stop being a fool. Tell her that you want them. The Hallows are the only way."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Whew…these final chapters seem to be much longer than planned…wish me luck on the next one…

Am so glad Harry showed some life here and didn't let Hermione's logic completely take over.

-->

64. Fight or Flight

A/N. This isn't much but thought I'd post anyway and hopefully get a good rhythm going.

Cheers!

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 64 - Fight or Flight

Some time ago...

Fight or flight?

Patronuses were borne of happy, positive thoughts, weren't they?

"Good doggie..." Hugo muttered.

It didn't like that. The wolf lurched forward and ran towards him, growling ferociously, its white sharp fangs sparkling in the dark. Without a second thought, Hugo turned and began running. It was chasing him and, from the sounds of it, gaining ground.

Not reallly knowing where to go he turned left then right then right again but he couldn't shake it off. It was right behind him now, its breath puffing against his legs, its teeth nipping at his ankles. Then, all of a sudden, it wasn't anymore.

He looked back; it was slowing down. Somehow he didn't feel like celebrating just yet. Why was it giving up?

Before he figured that something was about to go wrong his next step caught nothing but air. He had little time to react. He managed to get his wand in his hand, his arms flailing as his feet lost contact with the ground.

XXXXXXX

Present time…

"You are the wand's master. No pressure," Warren concluded his monologue.

The Canadian had an angle Harry wasn't seeing and he was not about to take Warren's suggestions at their obvious face value. Why was Warren so keen for him to know that he had the theoretical mastery of the wand? Harry was certain that whatever that reason was it wasn't because Hermione was convinced he had to have the rest of the Hallows. His gut told him that the betrayal that earned Warren the business end of Hermione's wand was about something else, likely something worse.

“Dammit!” Warren swore at his phone, "I'll be right back. Kids are breaking into my potion cupboard again."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo was in a deep valley of dense foliage, climbing the steep slope opposite to where he fell from. He lost sight of the unusual Patronus a good half an hour ago after freefalling in darkness four storeys down.

The rush from that ride still lingered. He wanted to call Isa and Spencer but he dropped his phone somewhere and thought it imprudent to double back to retrieve it. He supposed he could contact his Mum but he convinced himself that he was no longer in any real danger. The last thing he needed was for her to overreact and ground him, not let him out of her sight. He decided that once he got to higher ground he would try to find the village, find Isa and Spencer and talk to them about it. Maybe Isa first. Spencer would just laugh at him. He ran away from a Patronus. How lame was that?

He trudged up the hill hanging on to the tall blades of grass sturdy enough to support his weight. He doubted very much that this part of Pag-asa had ever seen a being in a long while and he tried not to think of what dangerous wild life he could encounter. Really, it would probably be more reasonable to be scared of unseen poisonous snakes and untamed boars than conjured mists meant to fight off Dementors.

Just as that reassuring thought came to mind he reached the top and right into a circular clearing, and there, seemingly waiting for him, was the thing he had been running away from. It let out a low but intense growl as it began to put one paw in front of the other.

It's just a Patronus. You are not a Dementor, he reassured himself.

It made a run for him again.

At that point Hugo was not turning his back on it. His feet were glued to the ground, his wand at the ready, the bounding pulse from his heart so powerful he felt it choking him.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" Hugo fired, his blasts going through the silver Patronus, not even breaking its stride.

On reflex, he lifted his left arm to protect himself as it pounced at him. The impact forced him to fall. The wolf's teeth sank into his left forearm and the sound of bone cracking in between its powerful jaws matched the excruciating pain that shot through his body. Blood immediately soaked his sleeve. With his back to the ground he wrestled with the maniacal beast, its eyes mad with desire to rip him apart.

This was no Patronus, at least it no longer was. It was solid, heavy, and very real, causing and about to cause more physical injury. He stuck his weapon into its gut.

"Reducto!"

The curse exploded from his wand and into the beast, sending it airborne, his hand ringing from the impact. It landed on all fours a few feet from him, whimpering as it looked at the hole in the centre of its belly. Hugo got up and watched its flesh and fur creep from the wound edges and meet at the centre. He buckled down. A part of him would have been disappointed had that not happened.

Recovered, the wolf looked up, angrier than it was before.

"Your move you stupid fur ball!" Hugo hissed at it, pointing his wand steady, ready for more.

It attacked again. He blasted it with a series of Stunners. The curses clipped the animal and jarred it momentarily but not enough to keep it from reaching him.

Hugo was on his back again, fighting to keep the wolf's teeth off his face, and holding on to his wand like his life depended on it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Minutes earlier...

A few meters from Warren's hut, Rose walked up to the three local boys who had been giving Al bad advice all night.

"Where's Al?"

All three jumped like they had something to feel guilty about.

"Er..."

"Um..."

"Al who?"

They eyed Isa and Spencer nervously and then got even more jittery when Warren Gates showed up in the path.

"You again!" Warren called out, accusatory. The boys ran off before Warren could get to them, "I already told you to stay out!"

As they watched the boys scamper and disappear around the bend Warren turned his attention to them.

He had a warning, "You shouldn't be here. Something bad is about to happen. Go back to the plaza."

Rose wasn't going to leave without Al, "We think Al's in your home."

"Is your cousin spying on me?" Warren accused maliciously.

"Of course not," Rose defended Al, "Can we just take a look? And we need to find Hugo."

“Did you not hear what I said? You need to go back.”

Warren didn't seem concerned that Hugo wasn't with them. That was strange.

"Mr. Gates, we haven't seen Hugo in a while,” Isa stressed, “He wanted to talk to Mr. Potter. We're really worried."

"Come," Warren relented, motioning them to follow him.

They went into his house and Rose started calling out Al's name as they checked out the rooms.

Finally, Warren declared, somewhat annoyed, "He came for some sobriety potion but he's not here anymore."

"Looks like your suitor is a boozer," Spencer taunted Isa.

"Shut up," Isa retorted.

Rose was too worried to comment.

"Tell you what," the Ex-Auror had an idea, "Find your Mum and tell her what's going on while I try to find Hugo and Albus. And no arguments from any of you."

Warren was dead serious. He rushed them out of his hut and they got on the path that was to take them back to the plaza.

"Really, you're better off knowing now than later," Spencer said to Isa.

"Al isn't a drinker," Rose snapped, her pace quickening. "Something's not right. Did you find that Warren seemed too eager to get rid of us?"

"The family is always the last to know."

Isa finally had it, "Can you be focused on something important for once in your life? Hugo and Albus are missing! There's a dark wizard on the loose and you're acting like a...!"

Spencer abruptly stopped walking and held out his arms across their bodies that they had to stop too.

"Sssh! Do you guys hear that?!"

They both listened but had no clue what he was talking about. They looked at each other puzzled. Spencer's eyes narrowed, looking through the trees on their right. He turned to Isa.

"It's Hugo! He's in trouble!"

"Wait!"

Isa was retrieving something from her bag as Spencer transformed into a werewolf right before their eyes. Hugo's friend barely got the chance to slap one of the contraptions on Spencer's arm when he began running for the woods.

"He never waits! Come on!"

Isa urged her to follow. Rose figured the screen in her hand was a receiver of sorts for the transmitter she put on Spencer. They were running.

"You always prepared for this sort of stuff?" Rose was curious at the odd thing she just witnessed.

"To keep an eye on him during transformations," Isa explained, tinkering with the monitors, "He's not always in control. Now Pag-asa is unplottable like the IMAN but Muggle GPS technology still works. We follow the red dot."

Isa pressed a button and the dot projected out in front of them. Spencer was nowhere in sight but Isa seemed confident about where they were going. Rose took out her locket, opened it to her Mum's picture and brushed it with her finger, hoping her Mum had hers with her.

"Mum!"

XXXXXXXXXX

Earlier…

The Elder meeting had broken off. Several beings including the village leader got on stage and caused the band to stop playing music abruptly. An announcement was made in the local language and the panicked response from the crowd was such that Harry didn't need to translate to know that the bad news of Malvado's impending attack was now out in the open.

As the leader offered reassuring words to his constituents Hermione, Gracie and Maria joined him, all with grim faces. Maria was cursing repeatedly, angry and upset.

"Calm down before you have a stroke," Gracie said to her in the local language. "You knew this was going to happen. They were never going to listen to you."

"What happens now?" Harry asked Hermione, as the beings began to scatter from the plaza.

"Malvado has prowlers in the perimeter combing for a way to get in. We've managed to keep the Tree secure but it's only a matter of time before Malvado finds it. Those who want to leave have just been asked to leave and those who stay will defend the pit, make sure no one comes through it alive."

"A defensive plan isn't going to work!" Maria passionately pointed out.

Harry gave his opinion, "Malvado has the numbers. You can't go to him and fight him toe to toe."

"Pag-asa's defences are a joke!”

"It would have been nice if you didn't point that out to the elders," Hermione chastised.

"But it's the truth. They're just too proud to admit that they cannot stand up against him and survive," Maria wagged a finger at her, “And it's entirely your fault for putting that seed in their heads!”

Hermione was red in the face. Harry stepped in, to break them off.

Gracie did the same and told Maria, “You're out of line.”

But Maria was not ready to let it go.

“You could have at least tried harder to convince them it wasn't time!”

“That's enough! She is not the enemy!” Gracie yelled at her, “She tried. It wasn't her decision to make. And I for one agree with Elders. This is what Pag-asa stands for. To give it up is not an option. And if we fail to defend it, at least we fought for it.”

Maria swore again, muttered she would get ready and left in a huff.

Gracie reassured Hermione, “She knows this is the right thing to do. She just hates you because you make her feel obliged to do it.”

Hermione wasn't that concerned, “I know. Your cousin always becomes more bitchy just before a fight.”

Harry brought up a point about the defensive plan.

"What if they attack by air or by sea?"

Gracie replied, "The village is protected by innate magical forces bestowed upon it at the time of creation. The pit is the only natural entry point."

"What about exits?"

“Once you're in you're free to leave its confines however you wish,” the restaurant owner said, then added, “There are a few exceptions.”

Harry frowned.

Gracie continued, “The same magical force that protects it from trespassers prevents Portkey travel and Disapparition of any kind within Pag-asa. We will take you to the nearest land border. You can Portkey from there.”

He frowned even more and looked at Hermione.

“Oops. Jumped the gun there,” Gracie realized her gaffe, “I'm sorry, Hermione. I'll round up the kids and meet you back here.”

After Gracie left Hermione wasted no time explaining, "The Elders appreciate your offer but declined help. They insist that all humans leave now. You have to go before we loose control of the Tree."

"Seriously?" was all he could think of to say to her.

"We don't have time to argue about this."

"Damn straight.”

"These beings are doing this for me. Malvado is coming for me. They stood up to Malvado because I said they could and I would help them. I am not leaving them.”

Harry knew she would say something like that. It was a point he had no arguments for.

Instead, he replied, “I am not leaving you here."

“You staying here is not an option."

“Why not?”

“Because one of us has to find the answer to Malvado,” she was calm and firm, trying to hold it together while he was barely able to keep his emotions off the table, "I've run out of time."

He went past the annoyance he felt that Warren told him the very same thing.

"You need my help here," he pointed out to her.

"I need you out there more, to find out what I can't anymore. And I need you to keep Rosie and Hugo safe because after Malvado gets through me he will be coming for them," Hermione pleaded, teary eyed, “Please.”

Harry felt how torn she was. He understood her conundrum and while the beings would probably understand if she left Pag-asa with her family she wasn't capable of doing that.

He had no choice. It was frustrating how the lack of options seemed to come up frequently when things involved her.

“And here I was thinking we were past arguments about who would look after the kids,” he said half-jokingly.

Hermione smiled weakly, relieved that he saw her point.

She said, “You need to go.”

He had many things to talk to her about. And it was out of extreme desperation to find 'the answer' to Malvado as soon as possible that he said something he never thought he would.

"I want the rest of the Hallows."

And surprisingly, he meant it too. He finally found a reason good enough to want it.

“Using the Hallows is not the answer,” she was again choosing her words meticulously.

“I need to know that it's not and the only way to know for sure is to use them,” he appealed to her logic, “And if that doesn't work I'll find a way to get rid of them.”

He could sense her holding back. He presumed her inability to discuss more in detail had to do with her POTH vows.

“When he finds out you have them he will go after you. He will do whatever it takes to get them,” she said, worry filling her eyes.

If only Harry had all the Hallows now. What she just said was proof that she was still conflicted about how much she would let him be involved. Her wishes were clear; keep the children safe, find the answer, but don't deliberately put himself in harm's way. Deciding not to fan her anxiety with his current thoughts he took Warren's advice.

“I know you don't want me to face him. Doesn't say much for your confidence in me…,” he had to say it and made her feel bad for it, “…but I get it. I can't really fault you for caring enough that you don't want me hurt. You don't want me to risk my life for you or for one of your causes. But this, what you're fighting for here, isn't just your cause. You made me realize years ago that Voldemort wasn't just my problem. Well, Malvado isn't just yours. So don't feel guilty about dragging me into this fight because you didn't. I'm here because it's my fight too.

“We're the same; we fight for what's right and what's fair, and we've both been at it almost all our lives. I'll make sure Rosie, Al and Hugo are safe but I am not going to sit around and wait for Malvado to come. That's not how I do things. Once they're set I'm coming back to help here. Hopefully we'll have the answer then but if not, we'll fight him off and buy more time.”

"You have other responsibilities."

"And I'm prioritizing."

Hermione looked at him, finally resigned that she wasn't going to get exactly what she wanted.

“Just don't die.”

“I'll try my best not to.”

He sighed and looked into her eyes with as much concern as she looked into his. He wanted so much to stay, to have some say in ensuring she would be okay in case Malvado got in before he could come back. That was the one thing he never had to worry about since Hermione retired from active Auror duty. The thing was no matter how much he knew Hermione was an outstanding fighter the thought of her duelling Malvado on her own worried him a lot.

“Watch your back,” he told her.

“I will.”

“After all that we've been through, life without you now would suck more than ever.”

That made her chuckle.

“You're a true romantic Harry,” she said to him then went back to strategy, “If things go awry you won't be able to come back in through the pit.”

At least she was not talking him out of coming back.

“I'll find a way,” that was the least of his worries. He reminded her, “The wand and the cloak.”

"I am not the Keeper," she replied impatiently.

“How do I find the Keeper?”

“I'd prefer not to tell you. Come on Harry.”

She was shaking him off, her eyes telling him they weren't going to get anywhere with him asking those questions.

"Where's your book?" he asked, and when she seemed bewildered, he followed up, “I've been told that the answers are in your book, in Dumbledore's book, the one he left you."

Hermione's eyes lit up.

"Of course! Why didn't I think of that?" she was upset at herself for not coming up with it, "Who gave you the idea?"

He thought it best not to mention who his source was.

"Not important. Hermione, where is it?"

A muffled voice was coming off Hermione's locket. Hermione opened it immediately, very concerned. It was Rosie and she sounded very distressed.

XXXXXXXXX

Meanwhile...

"Are they gone?" Al asked from behind the door.

"Yes. You can come out now."

Gates didn't sound pissed. That was a relief. When he saw Rosie with Isa and Spencer he asked Gates not to tell them he was there.

"I'm sorry I broke in. The locals did a prank on me and I was desperate," he tried to explain.

"They were just trying to help. You should have tried it out," Gates seemed to know what Marco, Tomas and Juan planned for him, "Pretending to be someone else can be fun and rewarding if you pull it off."

"It's not for me," he replied, then set a vial down on the nearby table, afraid to come near the man, "Your anti-Polyjuice doesn't work."

Gates picked it up and read the label.

"This wasn't anti-Polyjuice."

“But it says so on the vial."

"I ran out of vials, used an old one. That's why you never drink someone else's potion without asking."

"What was in it?"

"Potion Potentiator," Gates revealed, "Looks like you're going to look like Hugo for a while."

"Great," Al groaned, wondering just how long 'a while' was.

He'd ask his Dad. His Dad would know what to do. It was what he should have done in the first place. Al got set to leave but Gates wasn't budging from the spot in the doorway. He was looking outside, seeing something aside from the darkness before them.

"Where are you going?" Gates asked.

There was something about how Gates asked the question that gave him goosebumps. Al looked the Canadian in the eye and tried not to be intimidated.

"To see my father."

"I don't think that's a good idea."

"You can't keep me here against my will."

"You don't want to go out there right now."

Right after Gates said that a fiery explosion lit up the sky and shook the entire house. It looked like the village entrance was under attack. Gates calmly closed the door as Al heard screaming and wailing from the villagers.

Al didn't know what to do! He didn't know what to think! Rosie! His Dad! Isa and all those kids at the plaza...!

Gates waved his hand on the foyer floor and a trap door appeared. It lifted on its own, light filling the underground cellar it concealed.

"I am not going in there!" Al thought and said out loud.

"You'll have to," Gates replied roughly, his voice tense, "Malvado will be here any moment. You've heard. He wants Hugo."

"But I'm not Hugo," Al pointed out.

"Precisely. Imagine what he'll do to you when he finds you and then finds out you're not who he wants," Gates answered, "No matter what happens, I strongly suggest you don't make a sound."

Gates grabbed him by the arm and shoved him down the wooden steps. Before Al could fully process what was happening the trap door slammed shut.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ron said to Jessie and Padma in frustration, "Can't get a hold of either of them. How much longer do we need to keep him?"

"About another hour before we get all our test results," Padma replied.

Jessie chimed in, "I'll need more time."

"He's pretty steamed," Padma answered with concern.

"I would be livid if I were him but he has to understand," Jessie said with some compassion, "It's kind of hard to prove or disprove something we know very little about unless somebody is prepared to blow his brains out and see if he survives."

They were referring to the suspect they had in the high security interrogation room next door. The CFO had a good point. Among them she was the one who was most objective about this. And while it appeared cowardly to be standing behind the one way mirror and letting George Bones and the Legilimiens, Flavius Belcher, do the questioning, it would have been inappropriate for him to do it.

"Are we done here?" an irate Ernie MacMillan snarled at George.

The Auror answered calmly, "Not quite."

"Come on!" Ernie yelled in frustration, "This is getting to be ridiculous! It should be obvious by now that somebody is out to destroy my reputation! Why would I come as myself to get the stone?! And if I were Llamas do you think you'd still be alive?! Do you think I'd still be here?!

"He has good points," Padma commented.

Ron saw Jessie bite back a remark. She was thinking the very same thing he was. All that still didn't prove Ernie wasn't the one who took the stone. George remained unemotional.

"Ernie, you know this is all procedure."

"I've answered all your questions and cooperated fully with everyone! I just want to go home!"

Ron couldn't stand watching Ernie lose it again. Auror procedure dictated locking Ernie up until there was absolute proof he wasn't the intruder who broke into Llamas cell earlier. The fastest way to clear Ernie was for Warren, or somebody else, to confess to the crime. That, or as Jessie pointed out, fail Hermione's Bombarda Brain test.

He tried to reach both Hermione and Harry again. Still no answer from either. Where were they?

The door to the room opened. One of Jessie's assistants handed her a bunch of papers and left. She took a look at the first page, then the next, and the next, each time more eagerly than the previous. Padma joined in the excitement, took the papers from Jessie and handed the ones she had seen to him.

Ron rifled through colored graphs, charts and numbers. They were all meaningless to him.

“What does this all mean?”

“These are Llamas test results,” Jessie could barely talk from being so pumped, “Humptail's tissues were alive in vivo but barely. Cell mitochondrial death occurred instantaneously at sampling which means the tissues and organs are being kept alive by these pulses of magical energy we detected emanating from the stone. These graphs show the body's response to the injurious sampling. Notice the simultaneous spikes in energy levels cascading from the stone's centre through a network of nerve-like extensions here, here and here. While I can't prove it without the body I suspect that the stone is some sort of a storehouse of undifferentiated precursors with the ability to rapidly regenerate dead cells. It communicates with the rest of the being through the magical energy it emits.”

Padma added, fascinated at their discovery, “The energy is unique, the wavelength shorter than any being we've ever catalogued and transmitted at a frequency higher than the most naturally gifted wanded wizards are able to conjure at their peaks. If we can isolate it, we may have a shot.”

“In Auror English please!”

“Since we can't remove the source of the being's power maybe we can find a way to prevent it from communicating with its physical body and prevent it from regenerating dead cells,” Jessie explained, eyes determined.

Padma was just as psyched, “Let's get to work.”

XXXXXXXXXXX

Hugo grunted as he and the animal crashed backing up into a rock. He raised his wand at it but the wolf went for his arm. Its sharp teeth missed his limb this time. Instead, it pierced his sleeve and began viciously shredding it into bits, forcing him to lose his wand.

He punched, kicked and fought it off with all he had. He was losing the battle. The stronger animal gained the upper hand. It finally let go of his tattered shirt and stepped back into attack position.

Instinct made him rapidly search for anything that would save his life. Hugo saw his wand on the ground to his right. He dove for it.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. More to come…

-->

65. Anatomy of a Hero

A/N.

My thoughts and prayers are with those who continue to be affected by the calamity in Japan. It is difficult to understand why these things happen but when they do they give us perspective that while there are things we cannot control there are those that we can. And it is in the latter where we can make a difference.

XXXXXXXXXX

Here's the next chapter. Al surprised me in this one and Harry keeps messing me up. Some answers, more questions, as usual.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 65 - Anatomy of a Hero

A brown blur went past him and took the wolf with it. It was Spencer in his werewolf form, saving his hide in the nick of time. Hugo gingerly picked himself off the dirt and limped over to the sparring beasts to help his friend out.

Spencer was much taller and bigger but the wolf was an elusive and crafty fighter. His friend kept swinging at it and missing, frustrating him On the last assault, his foe countered, clamping its teeth down on his shoulder. Spencer howled, spinning, turning, trying to grab it, to get it off.

"Stay still!" Hugo screamed, positioning himself closer, taking an aim at their opponent.

Spencer growled at him.

"What do you mean you can't?!"

His friend continued to shake the wolf off, tried anyway. Hugo shot a series of Stunners, hoping at least one would hit his mark. Seeing this, Spencer propelled his body right into the hail of curses. A couple hit the wolf right it the head and caused its jaws to release Spencer. The momentum sent it crashing into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Hugo saw Spencer fall to the ground, knocked unconscious by the spells. His were-metabolism was wearing off and he was transforming back into his human form. Bright red blood oozed profusely from where he was bitten. Hugo took off what was left of his bloody shirt and pressed it hard against the wound, hoping it would stop bleeding.

It was then when he noticed Isa's transmitter on Spencer's arm; with any luck she would bring help. For good measure he activated his watch to send his Mum the alarm he should have sent moments ago. Somebody would come soon, hopefully very soon.

But it would not be soon enough. Out of the corner of his eye he saw movement. The beast was up and about to attack again.

Going toe to toe again was not an option. He looked to his right. The edge of the steep incline he had just scaled was just a few meters away. If he could get the animal to chase him down the hill he might be able to outrun it and at the same time draw it away from Spencer. He just had to make sure the wolf would follow him.

Hugo heard a distant sound of something blowing up and couldn't worry about it at all.

XXXXXXXX

Moments earlier...

"Uh-oh," Isa said out loud, rattling the monitor in her hand

Rose, who was trying her best to keep up with the other girl's pace, asked, "What is it?"

"The dot stopped moving," Isa replied, evidently worried.

"Maybe he dropped it."

"That won't be the first time either. That would be bad too," she answered, still concerned.

Isa was right. If Spencer dropped it they might never find him - or Hugo.

Swish!!!

A broom whizzed by them so fast that it flattened the tall, dried, grass under its path. It was headed in the same direction they were. Another one descended just in front of them. Uncle Harry came off it.

"Are you two okay?"

"We're fine. But Hugo..."

"Stay here! Stay out of sight!"

Uncle Harry took off and left them. Just as he disappeared in the skyline an explosion went off somewhere in the village, startling them both.

Rose hesitated for a second, then tapped Isa on the arm.

"Come on!"

"But he said..."

"I heard what he said. I'm not about to stay here after that. Are you?"

XXXXXXXX

Ron paced, watching Padma, Jessie and other Ministry staff work furiously on the tissue samples taken from Ernie and the data from the tests on Humptail's body. Still unable to reach either Hermione or Harry, he couldn't wait anymore. He needed to make a decision about what to do with the Deputy MLE.

In the adjacent room Ernie mirrored his pacing with the same amount of frustration. Ron heard through Percy that the Chief Warlock was currently in the Legal Office with Ernie's father speaking with his boss. Ernie's family had loads of influence. They wouldn't be able to hold him for long. He had enough of this fence-sitting. He went over to Jessie and Padma and hovered until he got their attention.

"How's it going?" he asked patiently.

Padma cut through the pleasantries, "We need more time."

Time they didn't have time.

"What have you got?"

Jessie gave him short version, "We didn't find the stone in him. Ernie's tissues are typical human. Scans show there is nothing about him that's out of the ordinary. We have nothing to prove that he isn't who he is. So far."

Padma didn't disagree but reassured him, "It'll be hard to justify keeping him. You won't be wrong if you let him go."

If Ernie was a known crook and not a distinguished Ministry employee this would be more straightforward. The extenuating circumstances surrounding the case dictated complete clearance from all departments prior to release and Ron had to ask himself that he wasn't doing this just because they were friends or because Daddy had influence. To be completely honest about it, he was.

Ron decided not to wait. He went over to the cell door and opened it. Ernie looked at him with contempt.

"You're free to go."

"It's about t

Ernie grabbed his cloak and went past him scowling. To tell Ernie to stay in London while the investigation was going on would have been pointless. Seconds after Ernie walked out George Bones came up beside him.

"Now can I follow him?"

Ron nodded. George read his mind. Ernie was still their only suspect but the tail wasn't because he thought Ernie was guilty. Somebody wanted them to believe he was. Ernie might help them identify that somebody.

Or did that somebody just want them to waste time following Ernie around? Ron swore to himself. Nowadays he much preferred face to face duels than chess games.

The Head Unspeakable just walked into the room. Much to Ron's dismay they had been unsuccessful in keeping Max out of the loop. The Unspeakable poured over the data Padma and Jessie had like he owned it and demanded for a report from his subordinate.

Padma spoke, "We've isolated the stone's energy. We've run it through the database but there is not one magical artefact emitting anything resembling it."

"High frequency high amplitude short wavelength," Max recited, mesmerized at the graphic representations on the monitor he was seeing for the first time, "I've seen three."

Padma, Jessie and Ron gathered behind him as the Head Unspeakable pulled up a secure database and accessed a restricted file. Three images identical to the one on the screen came up.

"What are they?" Padma's eyes were as wide open as Jessie's.

"These, Unspeakable Boots, are the magical signatures of a cloak, a stone and a wand, items that once belonged to the Peverell family," Max's revealed, his eyes gleaming in a near crazed fashion.

Ron supposed there were DOM secrets only Max would be privy to. He was curious.

"How did you get them?"

"It was passed on to me by my predecessor who got it from his," Max replied, "And no, the Department of Mysteries doesn't have access to any of these artefacts, but you know that already."

Jessie had been staring at the screen for some time and she had an observation.

"I'm rusty with my magical physics but correct me if I'm wrong. They're identical but not exactly the same."

"You're right," Padma concurred and pointed on the screen, "Their energies share the short wavelength and high frequency trait. The Peverell magical waveforms have the same propagation vector and all start with an upslope but each has a near indiscernable difference in amplitude and magnitude. The stone that was in Humptail has a waveform that starts with a downslope."

It was all Greek to Ron and he patiently waited as they all thoughtfully continued to stare at the images.

"May I?" Padma asked rhetorically, nudging the Head Unspeakable off from the centre of the console and began keying in commands furiously.

When she was done she stepped back and watched the animation she just programmed come alive. Each Hallow representation on the screen moved towards a copy of the represention of Humptail's stone and overlapped, resulting into three unique waveforms.

The first two looked like jumbled squiggly lines to him and seemed not to interest his brainy colleagues either. The third one, the wand versus stone representation, was a symmetrical, slow, undulating wave that was almost a flatline.

"Now that is interesting," Jessie commented in her usual underwhelmed way.

"Does that mean what I think that means?" Ron asked, hopeful.

An uncharacteristically helpful Max answered, "It would appear that the Peverell wand can neutralize the powers of this particular Invincibility Stone if they are pitted against each other."

"Or the other way around," Padma voiced her reservations, "The two magical entities are each others' antagonists. The Invincibility Stone is supposed to be protective, defensive, creating cells when there's destruction. It makes sense that the wand, an object with naturally offensive and destructive capabilities, could counter it. But the resultant wave starts with a downslope. The stone's going to win."

"Not necessarily," Max corrected her, "Check your math, Boots."

Max left them alone. Padma blushed from embarrassment.

"Of course!" she chastised herself, gesticulating at the image, "How could I not see that!?"

Ron was clueless.

"See what?"

Jessie knew the answer and addressed his query, "We're missing a wizard on one side the equation."

"Huh?"

"We ran the tests while the stone was in a wizard; the wand was tested on its own," Jessie broke it down for him, then turned to Padma and said, "It was kind of obvious."

"You're supposed to console me for missing the obvious."

"You're a genius. You don't need consoling," Jessie retorted, "You got us the science we need to convince Hermione and the POTH to lend Harry the wand."

"Whoa!" Ron interrupted them, "Back up for me a bit. Are we now saying that the Elder wand is definitely the answer? That wand will trump stone?"

"I don't know about it being 'the' answer but it is one answer," Padma always qualified her findings, "And it's not a certainty. When wizards and witches use magical objects we change the magnitude and amplitude of the magical energy they emit. The wand's wielder will be key. The Deathstick may have what it takes to break down the stone's defences but only if a magical being of considerable superiority is using it, particularly if the stone is in someone as powerful as Malvado."

Jessie paraphrased for his sake, "She means we should let Harry use it to get the best results."

"That one, I got."

"I wonder," Padma was muttering to herself, "What if..."

Her voice trailed off as her fingers did their thing again. He and Jessie moved closer to get a better look at what she was trying to do. This time, she combined the Peverell wavethings into one and juxtaposed it over the stone's. The result impressed even Ron.

"Oh joy," Jessie was as pleased, "Looks like you found a better answer. I told you you were a genius."

Ron shook his head, "Hermione's not going to be happy about this."

"Why not?"

"You have proof that uniting the Hallows is the way to end this. It's going to annoy her no end that all this time she was wrong."

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry looked back the second he heard the explosion but pressed on. He'd come back and find Al after.

He saw Hermione descend up ahead and followed suit, dismounting from the broom with his wand out a few feet from where Hermione did.

"Mum!" Hugo called out, obviously relieved.

Hugo looked like he had been through a lot but seemed okay in sharp contrast to Spencer who lay unconscious on the ground. Across the way a silver gray wolf eyed them keenly, fangs bare and ready to attack. A simple animal would have not caused Hugo or Spencer trouble but this was no ordinary wolf. Harry had an idea what it was.

"Dementus," Hermione confirmed.

"I got this," Harry said to her, who he could tell wanted to see to Hugo and Spencer herself.

Hermione headed for the boys. Harry walked towards the wolf, eager to dispose of the pest quickly.

XXXXXXXXXX

Al's heart was racing and he was sweating profusely both from the stifling conditions of the cellar Gates left him in and the anxiety he was feeling right now. He heard Warren open the door, speak to someone in the local language and leave with whoever it was he spoke with.

He climbed up the wooden ladder and pushed against the trap door. It was wielded shut. He paced, decided, took his wand out and stepped back.

Reducto!

The curse hit the ceiling and bounced off it like a ping pong ball, ricocheting in the tiny confined space and almost hitting him before disintegrating a wooden crate that was propped up against the wall. He picked himself off the ground and dusted himself off. Gates must have charmed the door to repel any attempt to open it from the inside.

This was just great.

For a moment he considered screaming in the hope that someone would hear him and get him out but from what he could hear things were getting bad outside. The village was under attack, that much he could tell for sure, and to try and attract attention without a targeted audience would be foolish. Really, if he was to scream for help he'd want to be sure the person who would respond to it would not kill him. He already felt like an idiot for drinking Polyjuice and thinking he could come here to fix it himself. He could at least do his best to avoid dying totally stupid.

He scanned the cellar he was in. The ground and the walls were made of flat rocks with no hidden doors or exits. Above him, thick wooden panels formed the ceiling, interrupted by knut sized holes Al figured were for ventilation. It was through them that he could hear the escalating fighting that was going on.

From all that his ears picked up a woman's voice. He didn't understand her words but she was crying, begging for mercy. He heard gunfire abruptly interrupt her pleas. Then there was a split second of muted silence before chaos filled the cellar again.

Al had to get out and help. He looked around a second time and noticed something behind what was left of the crate his curse ended up destroying earlier. In the wall was a hole.

He got on his knees and peered in, shining his light into it. There was a tunnel big enough for him to crawl into. He couldn't see where it led to but he felt a strong draft of fresh air coming from within. With renewed determination, Al began crawling towards its source.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione tried not to panic. There was blood everywhere. Hugo said he was fine and immediately explained what caused Spencer's condition. She lifted the bloody, tattered shirt off of Spencer's shoulder ready to hit his injury with a clotting spell.

But there was nothing there except for a faint red jagged line. Hugo was as surprised.

"Does he normally heal this quickly?" she asked him.

Hugo shook his head, confused. The torn shirt was Hugo's. He had been injured too.

"Let me see your arm," she said to him.

Hermione examined both and found nothing either.

"It happened again?" she asked.

He nodded, confirming, "I don't understand, Mum."

She didn't completely understand it either.

“We'll figure it out,” she reassured him, “But whatever this is it'll be foolish to assume that he can't hurt you. I'd rather you stop thinking what you're thinking.”

Hermione looked him in the eye and got the promise that he would.

XXXXXXXXXX

The wolf leapt forward and ran straight at him. Harry conjured his Patronus and sent it to meet the advancing beast.

Animus Corpus!

With the silent spell the silvery mist from his wand acquired flesh and became real. The stag hung its neck down just as it collided with its counterpart, goring it with its antlers, lifting it up by its chest. The wolf let out a yawp as it struggled to free itself. A few seconds later it stopped moving, then turned into a grey cloudy wisp before completely dissipating into the air.

That was easier than Harry thought. It was almost too easy. He went over to Hugo.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," Hugo answered hastiliy, "What was that?"

"A Dementus."

They were Patronus-like charms conjured using happy but evil memories.

"It felt real."

"This one was meant to be real," Harry replied, in a rush.

He scanned the perimeter. Aside from two approaching humans he knew were Rosie and Isa they were alone. Whoever owned the Dementus created it some time ago, gave it flesh, a course of action and left it on its own to fulfill it. The fact that its owner was remote made it easy to dispose of but whoever created it had to be someone inside, or someone from the outside who knew the village was here.

Harry got to Hermione just as she and Spencer got up.

"Hugo!" Rosie was running towards them, Isa in tow, "Are you all...oh Merlin! Why are you naked?"

She meant Spencer, who, Harry just noticed, was in his birthday suit, his hands on his hips and a proud unaffected look on his face. Isa had a few choice words for the werewolf as she pulled out clothes from her bag and thrust them with force against Spencer's chest. Harry took Hermione aside.

He said to her, "I heard an explosion."

"Back at the village entrance," she heard it too, "Malvado and his men must be trying to blast their way through.”

"Listen, I need to find Al."

Hermione had an odd question, "Do you trust me?"

Harry frowned, not knowing where she was going with this, "Of course I do."

"Past that treeline is Pag-asa's border. You'll know once you've crossed. From there you and the children can port key to somewhere safe."

She was asking him to go and leave Al. That was somewhat unthinkable.

"I know how hard it is to let someone else do what you feel you should be doing but we can't be in all places at once," she spoke from her own experience, "I'll make sure Al gets home safely. I will."

He had no doubt that she would. Strategically she made sense. It was foolish to take the children back to the village and there was no time to argue with her about options. The sooner he agreed the sooner he could leave and come back and the sooner she'd find Al.

"How do I get a hold of you?"

"Malvado has the phone lines jammed. The best way is through Ron or the kids," she replied, referring to her locket, a tinge of dissapointment in him that they lacked something more direct. Hermione continued, "And about the book. It's at the IMAN library."

He felt compelled to warn her, "Be careful. That Dementus looked familiar."

She nodded, went over to Hugo and Rosie, hugged them and said something to them he didn't hear. Then just as her tears came she pulled back, turned away from them, took one of the brooms. She gave him one last look, one of gratitude, and took off.

He watched her disappear from view, regret setting in. He felt like there was so much left unsaid between them, like they had unfinished business. And something about the image of her going back on her own just didn't feel right.

XXXXXXXXXX

At a corner table at Finnigan's, Seamus shook hands with a group of five beings pretending to be customers and sat down on their invite.

"It's proven," Unspeakable Max shared with them, "The Deathstick is the answer to Malvado."

"Let's be honest now. Your proposition has very little to do with Malvado and a lot to do with personal gain," Gummy said with his usual paranoia, "The wand is the one Hallow we have no access to. You want the wand for yourself."

"That still doesn't change what I just said."

"Our task is to protect the Hallows,” Brian Figg reminded them, “It is not to determine exceptions to who gets to use them.”

"Maybe it should be," Seamus felt compelled to speak up, "We have a social and moral obligation to help rid the world of dark wizards like Malvado. It's above the POTH. The proof is there. We can't ignore it. We already helped by giving Harry use of the stone. Why not give him the wand?"

Winky replied, "Snitch encased stone is different from most powerful wand ever made. Winky thinks wand is big thing. Important for it not to belong to bad wizard."

"I agree," Seamus had to be more convincing, "It'll be on loan. Harry will take care of it, just like he has taken care of the stone. We can trust him. And we can always hide the wand again after. We'll find another place."

There was an uneasy silence around the table. As much as he didn't like Max Seamus felt strongly about taking the wand out of its current resting place. Much of their hesitation was because where it was now was the perfect hiding spot.

They looked at Dovalov who had not spoken. Without Hermione they would not be able to come up with the unanimous decision needed to allow them to lend Harry the wand like they did the stone, but with a majority they could ask the Keeper to tell Harry where he could get it.

Dovalov pointed out, "Even if we recommend, Keeper may still disagree."

That was true. The Keeper would insist on remaining anonymous. Seamus was certain there would be ways to assure that would happen.

Seamus shrugged, "There's only one way to find out. All in favour?"

He raised his hand. Max held up his immediately, then Gummy. Dovalov looked directly at him, gauging his proposal, then after a few seconds threw in his support. Winky and Brian finally did the same.

XXXXXXXXXX

Al's knees and elbows were sore and his shoulders hurt. The tunnel had narrowed down considerably. He had to dig around to loosen the dirt and get himself through. Al didn't know how much farther he could go and he had gone so far into it that crawling backwards was not really an option.

He got around a slight curve and saw light in front of him! He was finally at the end of the tunnel! Heart racing again, he pulled himself forward slowly, pushing a loosely fitted screen through some bushes!

Someone's backyard.

Malvado's men were there bringing in villagers and putting them in makeshift prisons. Almost all were women and children, most of them crying. Elsewhere he could still hear fighting but not as much as before.

A nearby cage rattled, a woman called over one of her captors in a sweet inviting voice, drawing one close. Unexpectedly, she pulled him by his shirt, bared and sank her teeth into his neck. Al recognized the vampire. It was Gracie, the restaurant owner.

As the man struggled to get away his colleagues tired to help, poking Gracie with sharp wooden rods. She fought those off too, grabbing one and stabbing the goon who held it right through his gut. Letting go of the bloke she just sucked dry, she snarled at the others and they all stepped back.

Then Al saw a gun.

"Don't kill her!" someone, their leader, hollered in the local language, "Malvado wants her!"

Malvado's men snickered, taunting Gracie about dying in the most horrible way possible. Al watched as the goons began rolling her cage away.

One of them was ordered to stay and stand guard. The underling grunted, complained to himself about missing what was about to happen.

Al had to make a move. It was now or never.

Managing to slip out of the hole rather easily, Al's next challenge was how to free the villagers without sounding an alarm. The guard was quite a ways from where he was and there was limited ground cover to make his way to him without being detected.

He looked around for options and it was then when he caught the eye of Tomas who was in one of the makeshift prisons closest to him. He motioned to the teen what he needed to happen, hoping fervently Tomas would understand.

"Oy! Tutang pangit!" Tomas called out to the goon.

That translated to 'ugly lap dog' or something like that. His fellow prisoners were aghast. They urged him to take it back and apologize. Tomas did no such thing.

Instead, he declared, "Kasing pangit ka ng nanay mo!"

Whatever that meant that definitely got the man's attention now. He marched with determination and fired off a few choice words for Tomas who continued to get his goat. The goon threatened to shoot Tomas but by then he had turned his back completely to Al.

"Petrificus totalus!"

The man made like a log and plopped to the ground. An instant cheer came from those who saw it. Al hushed them as he hurriedly unlocked the cages. Everybody was thanking him profusely, thanking Hugo actually, and not that he cared they thought he was Hugo but he needed them to be quiet so they wouldn't get caught. That wasn't working.

"Tomas," he hissed, "Help me out here."

The boy finally calmed the villagers down enough so Al could instruct them to find a way out of the village. Thirty or so beings began filing out in order. Tomas saw Al wasn't moving.

"You're not coming?" he was asked.

Al couldn't get his eyes off the trail Gracie disappeared into.

"She's probably already dead," Tomas pointed out.

He thought the same thing but he couldn't leave until he knew for sure. And it wasn't because he wasn't afraid of dying or because he wanted to be a hero. He just couldn't walk away.

"I have to see for myself," he said, and when Tomas looked like he was staying too Al told him, "I need you to go with the women and children, to make sure they get to safety. Okay?"

Tomas nodded and did as he asked, probably because he thought he was Hugo.

Al took a big breath in, let it out and made his way to the plaza.

XXXXXXXXXX

Rose wasn't naïve. Even with Mum's reassurance that everything would be okay, there was a big possibility that it was the last time she would see her alive. Her brother knew that too.

"I'm heading back," Hugo said to Rose the moment Mum's figure disappeared behind a cloud.

"She said not to," Rose had tears in her eyes.

"She can't do this by herself!"

Technically Mum wasn't but Rose knew what he meant. By then Uncle Harry had what Hugo was reaching for.

"Give me the broom!" Hugo demanded.

"You want to go back," Uncle Harry confronted Hugo, keeping the flying object away from her brother, as she, Isa and Spencer looked on.

"Yes!"

"And what do you think you'll accomplish?!"

"I want to help!"

"You almost got yourself killed here by a mere Dementus!" he told Hugo bluntly. "Do you think it'll be easier back there when you meet the real thing?!"

"I'm not afraid to die!"

"I don't doubt that!" Uncle Harry yelled back, "But let me tell you what's going to happen! You go back there and she will worry about you, she'll fight to protect you, more than she will take care of herself! Is that what you want?!"

"I just want to help!"

Hugo broke down, seeing Uncle Harry's point. Rose saw it too.

She tried to comfort him, "Mum asked us to leave. Not being here right now is how we can help."

Her brother nodded, finally convinced as she was. She saw that Uncle Harry had calmed down but seemed distracted. He was eyeing his Patronus which had made its way beyond the line of trees Mum told them was the village border.

"There's one other thing I will need your help with," Uncle Harry said to Hugo unexpectedly. He then turned to her, "Rosie, get me your Dad."

XXXXXXXXXX

Malvado watched with interest. He had been searching for Pag-asa for more than a year. He must admit it was clever of them to survive this long but that didn't matter anymore. Pag-asa would no longer exist. He would annihilate the entire village to show everyone how he dealt with rebels and traitors.

The ring leaders were being rounded up for him and set up for display on stage. His underlings, humans and non-humans alike, were thirsting for blood. He could feel their hunger and he would appease them, soon.

A vampire was being wheeled in. He could smell her fear under the fierce façade she was putting up. She smelled familiar.

He stood up and approached as his minions unloaded her, bringing the vampire to him. She tried to escape but that was expected.

“Come here,” he commanded her, and she fought the suggestion somewhat before giving in to it.

He studied her face, young and beautiful at her turning, her brown eyes defiant but no completely masking the fear within.

“Have I had you before?”

She spat in his eye and he held back the closed fist that she deserved. She was feisty. He remembered.

“I know you,” he whispered in her ear, aroused by the memory of their previous encounter, “You're just as stunning as you were back then and definitely more interesting than your human mother.”

Malvado tasted her agony, bittersweet, just like he preferred. He ran his fingers lightly on her cheek, willing her not to recoil from his touch.

“I could have sworn you were dead when I was done with you,” he thought out loud, “Maybe I'll keep you longer this time.”

Her thoughts were so amusing that he had to let her speak.

“I'd rather die!”

He smiled at her and replied, “Don't worry. You will.”

Malvado turned, feeling someone approach. A hush of silence fell upon his crowd as the man walked straight towards him, with thoughts and mood as unreadable as ever.

“It's about time you got here,” Malvado said, showing his displeasure, “You owe me an apology.”

Warren Gates retorted, “The way I see it you owe me an apology. We had a deal and you broke it. I'm so disappointed. There's obviously no honour among bad guys anymore.”

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N.

Am grateful for your continued interest. Knowing that people are still reading keeps me writing!

Giving us some hope here that the Hallows are the answer…and Hugo…some of you clued in to this ability a few chapters back…am quite excited about the next time he meets Malvado because we all know that, in spite of what Hermione and Harry are trying to do, that is inevitable :)

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66. Difficult Choices

A/N. Am back and eager to finish this. I can’t tell you how much I miss writing. I was quite touched by your notes – and mostly felt embarrassed and guilty that the wait has been so long!

Forgive the choppiness – I am rusty and the words have been hard to find. And thank you for your patience.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 66 – Difficult Choices

Gracie watched Warren look Malvado in the eye. He wasn’t backing down from the Dark wizard’s intense scrutiny. In the two years that she'd seen Warren work this was the first time she feared for his safety.

“Indeed,” Malvado was the first to break the silence, “You never mentioned she was once the Mistress of Death.”

“Right,” Warren replied, calm and composed, “I knew there was something I forgot to tell you. Was that a big deal?”

“That and you led me to believe I had the Elder wand.”

Warren challenged Malvado’s patience further, “That cunning bitch. She said she put it back in Dumbledore’s tomb. She sure got me fooled.”

Gracie found him unconvincing. Warren wasn't even attempting to lie. Was he trying to get himself killed?

Malvado wasn’t impressed and lost it, “You made me look like a fool in front of the men! I should gut you and feed you to them!"

"If you wanted to kill me I'd be dead already," Gates dismissed his threat, then sold him the story he said he would, "Granger is the key. We need her alive to get the wand. Going after the POTH in London was a big mistake and going after her you crossed the line. I told you not to go past intimidation. Potter should have never gotten involved. I had everything under control but you just had to complicate things."

That didn't detract Malvado from the bottom line, “You have been lying to me!"

“You gave me no choice,” Warren reasoned, "I had to make you look like an idiot to get her to trust me completely."

The dark wizard hissed at him in frustration, “You disappoint me!”

“That wouldn’t be the first time, now, would it?”

"Watch out!” Gracie yelped in warning as Malvado lifted his wand.

Warren didn’t react at all. The curse Malvado conjured hit him squarely on the chest, its bitter taste filling the air. Warren slumped to his knees, back arched, and jaws clenched, writhing in agony.

XXXXXXXXXX

“What exactly are we looking for?” Rosie asked Hugo’s father the very question that was on his mind.

The reply was frank and somewhat disappointing, “I don’t know. The Hag didn’t go into details. The book was charmed by Professor Dumbledore to reveal, over time, more about the Hallows as necessary. Whatever it is it’ll be something unique, something we won’t find in any other Tales copy.”

Off in the distance they heard the beginnings of a fierce battle being waged. His father’s worry intensified. Hugo felt intruding thoughts nudging past his consciousness.

The Auror's voice filled his ears, “Whatever is in the book it will only reveal itself to you.”

Hugo replied silently, “What makes you think that?”

“The Hag said so. When it does, don’t feel pressured that you have to act on whatever suggestion it makes. You’re not alone in this. I’m here. Your Mum’s here. Your Dad. You have family. We’ll figure it out together.”

Hugo heard the sincerity in his father’s voice and felt the sense of security he had not had since his Mum got hurt. He nodded his acknowledgment.

“It's Dad,” Rosie announced, pointing to a silhouette of a man just past Pag-asa’s magical boundaries.

The older Potter conjured his Patronus and sent it past the village’s border. It approached the other figure and they talked. Hugo suspected that his father was confirming his Dad’s identity. With that cleared up they were told to cross the invisible wall. As they walked through it felt like they were indeed entering an entirely different world. Hugo looked back and couldn’t see the Auror anymore.

“Dad!” Rosie greeted, running towards her father’s awaiting arms.

Hugo approached slowly, unsure and worried. This would be the first time his dad would see him without the mask he had worn since he was born. And while Ron Weasley tried not to act surprised he clearly was. Nonetheless, the older man didn't hesitate and embraced him in a way that was no different from what Hugo remembered.

“Are you okay?” he was asked with concern.

Hugo nodded, holding back the well of tears forming in his eyes as a rush of emotions overcame him. He felt guilty lying to the man who had been his father in every way but one. He didn't even consider, until now, that coming clean with his Dad would have been the right thing to do.

“I’m so sorry,” Hugo managed to get off his chest, "I should have told you myself."

His Dad understood and only had reassurance for him, “It’s all good. As far as I’m concerned you’ll always be my son. And I’ll only get upset at you if you stop calling me ‘Dad’.”

By now Hugo was crying, the words were so unexpected and they meant so much to him.

“I won’t,” he promised.

Rosie came over to hug them both; she was crying too.

“Okay, enough of this you two,” his dad pulled back, brushed tears off both cheeks and told them in jest, “I’m dying to borrow a book from the library but I’m going to need help. I don’t believe I’ve set foot in one in twenty five years. Just don’t tell your Mum I said that in front of you.”

XXXXXXXXX

From his hiding place in the bushes, Al witnessed the verbal exchange between Gates and Malvado. He was too far to hear exactly what they were talking about but from the looks of it Malvado wasn't pleased. Malvado cursed him. The Canadian suddenly dropped on all fours in agony and Al had no doubt that he was witnessing the Cruciatus curse for the very first time.

The torture brought about mob like cheering from Malvado's minions. The vampire Grace, who was close and bound by magical ropes, screamed at Malvado, imploring him to stop. That only encouraged the Dark Wizard more and he upped the intensity of his curse.

The image was so wrong. Al had thought Gates would come in fighting or at least put up a fight. Wasn't he supposed to be a very good wizard? And why didn't he attempt to rescue the vampire?

With everyone distracted Al took the window of opportunity and edged closer to the stage. He got to the back of the raised platform and pushed the screened barrier beside the steps to get under it. Ignoring the stench and the feel of slimy muck on the ground, he used the little light that streamed through the floorboards and crawled, navigating to a spot where he could see and hear the best.

“That was it?” Gates taunted feebly, mocking Malvado’s punishment, “Is that all you’ve got?”

Malvado responded with an angry yawp and seared Gates with another curse. When he was done Gates was barely moving.

Breathless from his wrath, Malvado got in Gates’ face and spat at him, “Don’t think for a moment that just because you have something I desire you are exempt from bowing to me. You're now more trouble than you're worth. Your time is up. You failed to deliver the Hallows. And the fact that she isn’t here trying to save your sorry ass is proof that you failed to gain her trust.”

"She'll be here. She's just running late," Gates replied weakly through gritted teeth.

How Gates could still provoke Malvado in his present predicament was beyond Al’s understanding. Malvado cursed him again and he lapsed into near unconsciousness.

“Face it. She abandoned you, just like she did before. You mean nothing to her. She isn’t worth all this. Give up this goody two shoes act and join me.”

The exchange was altogether bizarre. The more sceptical Malvado was of his loyalty, the more Al was convinced that Gates was on Aunt Hermione’s side. After all, if Gates was a bad guy, why would he subject himself to unnecessary suffering? But then if he was truly against Malvado, why didn’t Malvado kill him already?

There was another burst of celebration, this time coming from those who were farthest from the stage. Al peered through a hole in the slab of wooden front wall to see what it was about. A haul of half bodied beings, the IMP Maria included, were wheeled into the plaza. In another cage, a tangled mass of lower halves, hips, legs, and feet scrambled to get loose.

"Asin! Asin! Asin!"

The chants of salt were paired with overwhelming hatred for the half bodied beings. Al's translating device couldn't keep up with the exchange between Malvado, his men and the prisoners. Soon Malvado's men released several lower halves in the centre of the plaza. The half beings scampered and tried to escape but surrounded, they had no way out.

Then it started. White grains, salt from the looks of it, were thrown at the half beings, causing an instant caustic effect. The sight was disturbing. Organs within the lower halves gurgled and fizzled, and a pungent malodour emanated from the steam inducing reaction. In the other cage, their counterpart upper halves screamed in agony and began dying one after the other.

"Kill them all!" Malvado commanded.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry took off on the broom the moment the four teenagers crossed the village border. He released his Patronus soon after witnessing Hugo break down in Ron’s arms. It felt like he was intruding on something of Ron’s that was very personal. Only then did he fully appreciate how much Hugo meant to Ron and how much Ron meant to Hugo.

The sight brought up the question of where he would fit in Hugo’s life when this was all said and done. But he had to quickly put the thought aside. Up ahead the skyline was painted with burning huts and explosions. And this, coupled with the sound of rowdy cheering from the town centre, was not a good sign.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo paced in between some bookshelves in the least popular section of the IMAN library. Every now and then he peeked over to where his Dad was waiting for the headmistress. Rosie sat with Spencer and Isa at one of the tables, pouring over the circulation copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard. He couldn’t sit and concentrate. They had been there long enough, longer than they planned to be and he couldn’t stand the wait.

He wondered what was in the book that the Hag thought would help against Malvado. He just read the Bard's stories and he couldn't think of anything in it that he could use in the situation they were faced with. His father was probably right; whatever it was, it had to be the copy that was once his Mum’s.

Did it have something to do with his healing capabilities? His Mum told him not to think it but he couldn’t help himself. Actually, the more he thought about it the less afraid he was about meeting Malvado again. He felt somewhat invincible now, that Malvado couldn’t harm him. If only he could be certain that was the case.

Patience not being a strong suit, Hugo ran his wand down the palm of his left hand and felt the sharp pain caused by the injury he inflicted. The inch long cut bled bright blood, instantly drawing Isa’s attention.

"Have you gone insane?" a startled Isa startled him.

"Ssssh! Keep your voice down!"

He glanced over to Rosie who was still discussing the book with Spencer. Hugo didn't want his sister to find out. The last thing he needed was his other Potter siblings knowing about this, whatever this was. He wasn't sure Rosie could keep a secret from Al.

But the cut did not heal on its own. Disappointed, he waved his wand on it and the wound edges came together. Isa wasn't about to let it go.

"What was that about?"

Hugo, needing someone else's perspective, was up front, "The Dementus was real. It bit us both."

His reply perplexed her even more, "Your Mum healed you."

He shook his head and answered, "She didn't have to. When she got to us our wounds were healed."

Isa frowned, then offered up a most logical explanation, "The Dementus isn't known to cause actual injuries, at least not that I've read. The blood proves you weren't imagining the wounds. It is possible that just like the Dementus, the injuries it caused were temporal in nature."

"I suppose," Hugo countered half-heartedly, which Isa picked up on.

"But you don't think that's the case because if you did, you wouldn't have done what you just did. You think you can self heal."

"I was hoping but I obviously can't," he pointed out, now feeling embarrassed that he thought he was so special.

Isa, sensing he was holding back, gave him the look.

He admitted in a quiet voice, “I think I've healed others before."

Her eyes widened as she chastised him, "And you're just telling me about this now?!"

"I wasn't sure," he defended himself, "I'm still not sure."

Isa was frustrated and impatiently motioned for him to keep talking, "Stop waffling and just give me facts."

"At the fair. My father got shot in the leg. After I got him out of the fortune teller's tent his leg healed right before my eyes."

"How?"

"I don't know. I barely touched it.”

“Who else?”

“My Mum, maybe,” he said with more uncertainty, “At Grimmauld just before she woke up, I was holding her hand and I felt this...something...I don’t know how to describe it...like I was taking in energy from her. It left this bad taste in my mouth that made me throw up and pass out.”

“Then Spencer," she concluded for him, frowning.

Isa's ensuing silence made his heart sink.

"You think I'm mental," he groaned.

She answered matter-of-factly, "Yes, you do sound like you're losing it, but then maybe you're not. It would actually make sense if you're able to do it."

Hugo considered Isa's words and knew what she meant. He didn't want to think it because the whole business about that still made him feel like a freak.

"That may be so but I still can’t prove any of it.”

“There‘s one easy way.”

She held her open palm out to him, suggesting he test her. Hugo gently pushed her hand away and drew the line.

“Absolutely not. And besides, even if I can heal you or heal others and it could come in handy one day what would really help me against Malvado is if I can self-heal. That’s clearly not the case."

"It's clearly not clear,” Isa argued, “This can't be all coincidence. Did you…?”

“Each time.”

“The trigger?"

"Fear, avoiding death," he listed, feeling such a coward.

For all his talk about finishing off Malvado he judged his bravery as all bark and no bite. Twice he tried running away, both times he fought only because he was backed into a corner, and both times somebody had to bail him out.

"Adrenaline," Isa quickly corrected him.

"Next time I’m running away from Malvado, I’ll try it out."

“There’s brave and there’s stupid. Any normal 13 year old would run away.”

Her mention of ‘normal’ hit a sore nerve. Since finding out who his real father was he had gone out of his way to be ‘normal’ and un-extraordinary. And now here he was wishing he wasn’t so ordinary, that he could somehow heal himself. He felt like he was betraying a pact he made to himself, to not be 'special' or like his father in any way. So why couldn’t he be okay with being the normal 13 year old and accept his fate of dying young?

He asked her his worst fear, “And how long do you think a normal 13 year old can run from Malvado?”

"As long as it takes, longer unless you stop snarling at me and start helping me figure this healing thing out," was Isa's determined response. She reassured him, “I have an idea but I need to run tests. Can you convince your Dad to leave you at the IMAN?"

Hugo shook his head and she understood. Even if he could he didn't really want to stay at the IMAN. There were other important things to do.

XXXXXXXXXX

Ron was at the IMAN library patiently waiting for the Headmistress. She went into the school's private collection and had been there a while. Really, how long did it take to find an old book? He paced noisily in front of the door she disappeared into, contemplating whether to fetch her or wait it out.

Time was of the essence. Hermione's life was in danger and so was Harry's. Aside from the Malvado problem they were also unsure where the being that was in Humptail was at the moment. Things at home were quiet. He didn’t like quiet.

It was just like Hermione to be fighting somebody else’s war but for Harry this wasn’t merely about putting a bad guy in prison. It took a lot for Harry to ask him for help and drag him halfway across the world. Harry said he had to make sure Al was alright but Ron sensed that Harry would have done the same thing even if Al had been somewhere safe.

In spite of Harry’s treachery he could not say ‘no’. Ron saw the big picture and took the high road. Family came first. His children came first.

Ron watched Hugo from a distance. Hugo was undeniably Harry's son. It felt more real now seeing that he looked so much like his biological father. And even though Ron knew it wasn't Hugo's fault it was difficult not to feel betrayed all over again.

This isn’t about you. This isn't about you.

Ron needed to get over this. He had gone from being angry to feeling hurt. Hermione could have told him but she chose not to and he couldn’t help but wonder how much of their failed marriage was because she was still in love with Harry.

He recalled his conversation with Ginny soon after he read Hermione’s letter.

“You knew?!” he confronted Ginny.

“Calm down…”

“You knew and you stayed with the bastard?!”

“Ron!” Ginny matched his tone, “You need to calm down!”

“Hugo is Harry’s son and you want me to calm down?! Your husband had an affair with your best friend, my ex-wife, and you’re acting as if that’s okay?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”

“It was my fault!”

“No! I am not letting you do this to yourself! Don’t you defend the asshole…!”

“I’m not! This isn’t easy, Ron. I haven’t spoken about this to anyone so I’d really appreciate it if you would calm down before I lose the nerve!”

The banging in his head and the ringing in his ears settled down enough for him to hear her. It was her fault? How the fuck was this her fault?

"They lived at Grimmauld before Harry and I married. They were lovers."

"Stop lying for him!"

"It's not a lie."

"Why didn't they tell me?" he challenged.

She shrugged, "Nobody knew. He said it was because she wasn't ready, that she had doubts. But that doesn't matter anymore. They were and he had asked her to marry him. Then he got hurt during a case and he lost his memory of them."

Ron remembered the remote incident Ginny was referring to. He recalled where he was when it happened, how devastating it had been to Hermione and how her life went off the rails after that. Even after they got back together she never talked about that time in detail and he never pried on the assumption that she harboured this guilt for all the lives that were lost in that case, Dean included. All of a sudden it all seemed very possible and many bizarre decisions Hermione made made more sense.

An unpleasant feeling grew in the pit of his gut. Ginny grew more uncomfortable under his gaze.

"You and Harry eloped while she was in a coma."

Ginny answered without emotion, "Yes."

"Did you know this then?" Ron had to ask, trying not to sound accusing.

"No, not then," she responded, and with difficulty, admitted, "After we got back I noticed something wasn't right with her. And there were little things that suggested Harry had been with someone but I was too much of a coward to ask her questions directly. I was afraid of the answer."

Once again Ron was in disbelief, this time to the point of speechlessness.

"Not one of my brightest moments," she acknowledged with regret, and then defended what she did, "We were told Harry would never regain his lost memory. We were happy. I was determined not to lose him and I convinced myself that even if it were true she would have spoken up if it really mattered to her. She never did.

"Years passed, Hermione married you and things settled. For a long time I wondered if I just imagined it all. Then one day, out of the blue, he remembered. They had the affair. He told me when they ended it."

It was a lot of information to process all at once but it didn’t change the facts.

"That still doesn't justify what they did."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed, "But things would have been different had I told him what I knew when I knew it."

Ron could indeed imagine how different it would have been for everybody, him included. But it was still unimaginable to him that Ginny let Harry off so easily.

"How could you forgive them? How could you forgive him?" he asked.

"Because he asked for another chance," she calmly replied, "He could have walked out on me then; he would have had very good reason to. But he didn't. He chose to stay in spite of what I did. He was willing to give me another chance, one I wanted but was too proud to even ask for. How could I not give him the same?"

He mulled over what Ginny just said and neither spoke for some time. The entire thing was still unsettling but emotionally, he was drained. He had said what he wanted to say and realized nothing he said now would change the past. However he was left with multiple questions that rippled from Hermione’s lies, ones he feared he wouldn’t find any real answers to.

Ginny continued, "I know how you feel. I went through what you're going through. What they did was wrong. They knew it was and they ended it. And I'm not proud of what I did. I do regret not speaking up when I should have. But none of that matters anymore. It happened a long time ago, when we were young, when we didn't know any better. We all made mistakes and we tried to do what we thought was the right thing to do."

His sister’s admission that it was her sin of omission that started it did eventually calm him down. His heart went out to Hugo. The kid had gone through (and was going through) a lot. From this perspective his bruised ego didn't feel as bruised as it did before. And besides, Ginny was right. It happened a long time ago. He was happily remarried now and with age he was more and more convinced that the decision not to stay married to Hermione was a good one.

In that same conversation Ginny told him something else. Ron was not completely surprised when she said that she and Harry had been living separate lives for some time. He had noticed their gradual drift but thought nothing of it. That wasn’t unusual for most couples. What he didn't expect was that they had given up.

Ginny was quick to say it had nothing to do with Hugo and explained how Lily’s departure for Hogwarts two years ago made them see how much they had grown apart. Ron didn’t completely buy that. It was more likely that she never got over the incident. There are some things marriages don’t ever recover from. As far as he was concerned their decision to separate was long overdue.

The door beside him opened, jogging him out of his reverie. Finally!

"Here we are, Auror Weasley," the Headmistress announced, handing him the very old but well preserved tome, "The first edition Tales of Beedle the Bard donated to the school by Professor Granger. It's one of the most precious items in our collection."

"I'm sure it is. Thank you," he said.

He grabbed one end and tugged but found considerable resistance. The Headmistress wasn't letting go.

"It's priceless. We do not normally lend it out," she repeated what she told him on their way from her office earlier. "It has never left the reserved section."

"It's a matter of life and death," he repeated his earlier answer, pulling slightly at it, "I promise I'll bring it back."

"In the same condition," she added sternly.

"Understood."

Ron tugged harder. The Headmistress finally let it go. She followed him as he briskly walked back to where Rosie and Hugo were. The librarian was heading towards them with determination, waving a piece of parchment in hand.

"Auror Weasley!" she called out, whispering a shout, "You need to sign it out."

They were clearly missing the big picture. It didn’t shock him that Hermione worked with such nutters.

He turned and said to the Headmistress, slipping the small book into his cloak pocket, "Please accept my apologies for being rude."

Before the confused Headmistress could ask what for, Ron grabbed both Hugo and Rosie and Disapparated, breaking the wards within the IMAN.

XXXXXXXX

Malvado’s men pelted salt at the rest. Then they stopped, confused. The half beings were still alive.

One of them figured out the problem, "This is sugar!"

Somebody must have transformed them.

"She's here somewhere!" Malvado concluded.

Warren interjected, "Told you she'd be here."

"Don't just stand there, you morons! Find her!"

They scrambled like headless chickens, most of them still unsure of what to do. Malvado took a wand out and uttered a spell. He was scanning for humans.

A sudden panic came to Al. He had to make his move. Through the gap in the floorboard he sent a releasing spell at the magical binds that held the vampire.

Crash!

Wood splintered around him as he dove away from the explosion. A large hole opened up, exposing his hiding place and now there was nothing between him and the dark wizard.

One bone-chilling word came out of Malvado's mouth.

"You!"

Malvado thought he was Hugo. Al doubted that explaining the mix-up would make a difference. A curse was already headed his way.

"Prote-"

A blur tackled Malvado down and even though Al didn't finish conjuring his protective spell Malvado's curse rebounded off of him.

Aunt Hermione swooped down from the sky, broom handle on one hand wand in the other. She landed inside the stage pit beside him.

"Hop on!"

She didn't have to tell him twice. They took off. Malvado's men were closing in on the stage, most of them shooting and cursing. Aunt Hermione shielded them with a charm that repelled hexes and turned bullets into tiny yellow feathers.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!"

Al fired liberally. They were flying low and were headed for the cages.

"You have to drive!"

There was no time to ask questions. He clasped onto the broomstick and steered them steady on their current course. Keeping the shield on them, she took out another wand and blasted the cages open. The half bodied beings sprung out large wings and attacked their attackers.

Bullets and curses zinged by them from the rooftops of nearby homes. As they drew and avoided fire from there and from below, several half beings flew by them, let down their long, prehensile tongues and wrapped them around their shooters' necks, strangling them. He turned to find Maria beside them taking one of Aunt Hermione's wands.

"They need help!" Aunt Hermione motioned her to the stage.

"I hope you have a plan!" the IMP replied with disapproval.

And Maria was off. By then several other beings had appeared and had joined the fight. Giants, dwarves, vampires, fairies, grims and beings with human legs and horse heads poured into the plaza, some fighting with wands and some fighting without. He saw Tomas stun someone and hi-five Juan who with a wand just poked another in the eye. Al recognized some of the beings as the ones he had helped free earlier. They didn't leave after all.

But the Malvado goons were holding their own, effectively using their primitive firearms to complement their wands. They were keeping the local beings at bay and it was becoming extremely difficult to distinguish the bad guys from the good guys. And over at the raised platform, Malvado toyed with Maria, Gracie and the other beings attacking him. Where was Gates?

"Reducto! Petrificus totalus!"

Al helped as much as he could but felt bad that he was keeping Aunt Hermione from being where she would make the most difference. She was protecting him. Did she know he was Al and not Hugo?

She swerved to avoid a splatter of gunfire, aimed her wand at the large music speakers in the centre of the plaza and cast a spell on it.

Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank! Clank!

A collective clatter of metal against metal broke up the shooting. She had turned the village centerpiece into a giant magnet, pulling all the nearby guns against it. In panic the non-magical bad guys tried desperately to retrieve them. The villagers converged and descended upon them, treating their human attackers without mercy. Al had to turn away. It was carnage.

Many were scampering away, some begging forgiveness, a few had left the village. Their numbers were dwindling by the second and the locals were finally gaining the upper hand. Al thought that perhaps they could stay but he was wrong. Aunt Hermione had taken over the broomstick and was heading straight for the exit.

“No, wait!” Al heard himself scream.

She stopped, turned to him and looked him in the eye.

Aunt Hermione read his next thought, speaking to him in his head, "I know you’re not Hugo. I promised your father."

He replied in his thoughts, "He'd understand. They need your help. And I prefer to stay and see this through."

Al was certain his dad would. And besides, he didn't want to come out of this knowing he could have done more. He was not about to carry that regret the rest of his life.

But Aunt Hermione didn’t like the idea.

"He’s not going to spare you.”

"I realize that. Please let me do this.”

She hesitated, then looked around to assess the danger. Except for Malvado and his group near the stage the situation was under control. She gave in reluctantly. She took them down to the ground and she got off.

"Stay on the broom. Don't get too close to the enemy," she instructed.

He tried to reassure her not to worry, "Keep out of crossfire and watch out for rebounds."

"I'll keep him busy but expect him to go after you."

"I knew that," he answered, not letting on that he kind of forgot that part.

“And don’t get hurt or killed,” she told him sternly.

He promised.

Aunt Hermione summoned a nearby wand and headed for the stage.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry quickly scanned the battle scene and judged the locals were doing better than he expected. The SAMP were in the village, establishing the beginnings of control, and the non-local beings who had come from other parts of the country on Hermione's request were helping too.

He saw Malvado.

Harry jumped off the borrowed broom some distance from the stage and welcomed the barrage of curses from a group of Malvado’s army. He took them out, wasting no time. Off to the side he saw Maria, incapacitated with considerable injuries. Grace was on the ground beside her, limp and unmoving. Malvado had a beat on Al and Hermione.

He took out the last two wand wielding goons who stood between him and Malvado and ran towards the stage, firing Stunners at will. The heavy stingers jarred Malvado, making him lose control momentarily. Harry parried off a burst of fire from his enemy and remained steady on his course. He was very close, close enough that Malvado had to give him full attention.

Then his peripheral vision picked up a flash of light. He dodged the spell instinctively. More came and he fought those off, firing some of his own. A relentless surge of offensive curses followed, every single one meant maim. There was a lack of craftiness in the attack, deliberate in the choice of brute force. Whoever it was decided there was no outwitting him in a fight.

It was Warren.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione didn’t look back. She didn’t want to leave Al until he was completely safe but this was something she had to do.

As she got closer to Malvado the world around her slowed down and faded into the background. He was waiting for her, his anticipation to kill stifling and overpowering. It was one she had never encountered in all her years of duelling.

She breathed steadily and grasped both wands tightly. They dispensed with the usual pleasantries. Malvado fired first.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. There...one down...

67. The Tale of the Three Brothers

A/N. Here’s a short update but an important one. Trying not to lose the muse J

Loved the reviews.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 67 – The Tale of Three Brothers

Dovalov waited patiently as the Keeper scrutinized the signatures on the parchment. As he did, he couldn't help but think how the original Keeper, Professor Flitwick, handpicked such an unlikely replacement.

The choice didn’t really matter until now. Granted that the request was a grave and complicated one, it was evident that the current Hallows secret holder was taking the responsibility seriously.

The Keeper folded the parchment neatly, set it on fire and spoke honestly, "I expected this sooner."

"As you know, many changes," he replied. "You will tell him then?"

Dovalov eyed the Keeper's reaction to his question. It was unreadable.

"Has he asked for them?" the Keeper queried.

"Nyet," he replied truthfully, "But his hands have been full. We expect he will soon."

A sealed parchment was handed to him. It was addressed to Harry Potter. It was if the Keeper knew they would come asking for it.

"You know how it works. Unless he himself seeks the Hallows the answers will not be revealed."

"He will seek them with his whole heart. I am sure of it."

Dovalov pocketed the letter.

"Let's all hope he does," was the Keeper's reply

XXXXXXXXXX

“Stay out of this one, Harry,” Warren said simply, putting himself in between Harry and the stage.

The Ex-Auror then slammed Harry with successive hexes. As he fended off the attack, Harry saw that Malvado had Hermione on her heels.

“He's going to kill her. She needs help.”

“She’s beyond help. She can’t beat him without the Elder Wand.”

"She trusted you."

"Warned her about that, didn't I?"

At least Harry could tell Hermione he tried to reason with Warren. Harry retaliated. Warren was skilful but power for power he was outmatched. With Warren on the defence he checked up on Hermione. She had managed to escape being pinned to a corner but was once again backpedalling. He had no time to play nice.

He forced Warren to retreat so he could get closer. Warren backed into some rose bushes, giving Harry inspiration. The plant stems enlarged and ensnared the unprepared Canadian, grasping him by the arms and legs, wrapping his entire body. Instantaneously his wand was pried away from his fingers and he was pulled tightly against the ground. Several roses converged on his face and some into his mouth.

Warren spat out the petals and bellowed from somewhere within the overgrown shrubbery, ”Not fair Potter!"

Harry would deal with the thorn later.

With a series of Stunners, he made his presence known to Malvado. The distraction was timely. It afforded Hermione the reprieve she needed. She got her bearings back. As he joined them on stage Malvado sneered at them both, though Harry sensed he was also pausing to assess his current situation.

He looked over to Hermione to see how she was and whether or not she had a plan in mind. Roughed up but otherwise fine, Hermione’s voice came to him.

“Where are the kids?”

“With Ron. Did you find Al?”

“Polyjuiced to look like Hugo. He insisted on staying.”

Harry sighed mentally, “Kids nowadays, they don’t listen anymore. Warren didn't want me to help.”

“I saw that."

"I told you so."

"I’ll have a long talk with him later.”

“You can visit him in Azkaban. So, what’s the plan with this one?”

“Disarm him.”

“And after?”

“Secure him until he coughs up the stone or until we find an open portal to send him back.”

That meant indefinitely. Harry didn’t like Plan A. Plan A didn’t work with the being in Humptail.

“And plan B?”

“Don’t have one.”

“You’re slipping, Granger,” he poked fun at her uncharacteristic lack of a back up.

She jibed back, “We could always use the usual Potter Plan A.”

Hermione was referring to his olden preference to wing it. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. If they could somehow capture Malvado and imprison him, maybe they would have use of the wand shortly, to do what, he didn't know yet. And having use of the wand was a big maybe.

“Salazar Malvado! You’re surrounded! Surrender your wand!” the SAMP officer called out from a good hundred meters away.

Hermione, Harry noticed, was trying not to roll her eyes. Did they seriously think Malvado would consider giving up?

XXXXXXXXXX

They were at the Ministry Atrium. There was a huge crowd of employees and visitors coming and going which Hugo guessed was usual for a weekday morning. His Dad paused and looked around, establishing that nothing was amiss before motioning him and Rosie to the lifts.

They avoided the line up at the Daily Prophet Newstand and went past the atrium fountain where an out of place elevator was waiting for them.

“Auror Weasley,” an elf greeted them, “Free Willy welcomes you to his special lift.”

“Thank you. These are my kids, Rose and Hugo,” he introduced them.

“Free Willy is pleased to meet you,” the elf acknowledged, staring at Hugo’s face a little longer than he did Rosie.

“Department of Mysteries, please” their Dad requested.

The elf shut the gates and pressed a button.

Not five seconds later, the elf said to Hugo pointedly, “You look like Minister Potter.”

Rosie was quick to reply, “He is Minister Potter’s son.”

Hugo wished she didn’t do that. That left the elf quite confused.

“How can you be Auror Weasley’s son and be Minister Potter’s son at the same time?”

The lift came to an abrupt halt and the gates flung open. Thankfully they had arrived at their destination that Hugo didn’t have to answer.

Their Dad ushered them off, then patted the being on the back and answered for him, “Good question, Free Willy. We’ll chat the next time I’m on.”

The befuddled elf continued to stare at him past the office doors but Hugo didn’t care. Dealing with reactions to his true identity would have to wait. He wanted to see the book.

Hugo had never been in the DOM before and it looked like neither did Rosie. His Dad took them through several entrances and exits. By their third or fourth he was completely turned around and gave up trying to remember their way back.

In the next hallway his Dad’s pace began slowing. He opened the door to his right. Aunt Jessie and Unspeakable Boots were waiting for them. His Dad handed Unspeakable Boots the book while Aunt Jessie greeted them.

“Are you two okay?” she asked.

They answered in the affirmative.

“There are sandwiches over there,” she pointed just off in the corner, though she knew they were as interested in the contents of the book as they were, “Get something to eat. This will take a few of minutes.”

Hugo didn’t think he was but with the sight of food he suddenly felt hungry. Rosie took a sandwich and drank some juice too. They ate quickly and watched keenly as Unspeakable Boots put the old book beside an identical one and uttered a spell that connected them. Images of the books projected on the screen up front and two lists came up side by side, describing in detail the properties of both, comparing them, and highlighting the differences.

Unspeakable Boots filtered on significant non-similar data and scrolled through them while both his Dad and Aunt Jessie looked on.

The unspeakable was the first to speak.

“Hermione’s copy has significantly more magical weight than the other first edition.”

His Dad replied, “It was Professor Dumbledore’s. And Harry did mention it’s charmed.”

“It’s slightly more worn out and it’s been read more times than the library copy,” Unspeakable Boots added.

“That was a given,” Aunt Jessie commented.

His Dad looked worried, “This is somewhat disappointing.”

“How so?”

“It looks like aside from Professor Dumbledore’s markings there isn’t much difference in content.“

“Giving us the obvious would have been nice but from what I gather your old Professor preferred his students to sweat it out,” Aunt Jessie pointed out then noticed something peculiar, “What’s curious though is that Hermione’s book weighs a pound more.”

It did.

Unspeakable Boots did the math, “Based on average paper weight we’re looking at a difference of about a hundred pages.”

While he had hoped to do this more privately he figured quickly that it was not going to happen the way he wanted it to. Hugo had to speak up.

“May I take a look at Mum’s book?”

They made room for him at the table. He grabbed a chair and sat down as Unspeakable Boots gave the book to him. They gathered behind him. He tried to remain calm as he opened to the cover page.

A bizarre thing happened after. The book thickened to twice its original size and a strong gust of wind flipped the pages for him. It stopped right where the Tale of the Three Brothers began and it siphoned him into the story.

XXXXXXXXXX

Al had never seen a wand fight of this magnitude in his entire life. He remained on the broom just as he was told and hovered a safe distance away, eyes transfixed at the amazing display before them, worried and excited at the same time.

“Salazar Malvado! You’re surrounded! Surrender your wand!” a wizard in some sort of an official looking uniform yelled out.

Al heard a few locals snickering at the preposterous demand. Al thought the same.

“He’s just trying to do his job,” someone beside him defended the officer.

Strange, Al didn’t notice anyone on a broom come up near him at all. He turned to his right to see who it was. It was too dark and he couldn’t make out the man’s face.

“You really should have stayed in the cellar just like I told you to.”

Gates.

Just as Al pointed his wand at the older man a powerful vortex sucked him from within. He was swirling uncontrollably. His heart was racing and his insides were churning. He had to close his eyes to keep himself from passing out.

For a moment Al thought it would never end. When the spinning finally stopped he opened his eyes. He was no longer in Pag-asa.

XXXXXXXXXX

James was patrolling the beach. After being cooped up in a house full of upset relatives he needed a break and wanted to be of help. He asked Ted to teach him how to scan for breaks in the wards and detect the presence of enemies.

Ted had just gone back into the house to check up on Tori and told James he’d catch up. James figured he needed to do this on his own at some point so he didn’t mind. And besides, Ted was about to ask him about how he felt about the entire ‘Hugo and divorce’ thing. He wasn’t up to talking about that.

He understood why it was a big deal but it didn’t have to be. He agreed with what his Mum kept telling them. There was no changing it. There was no point in blaming anyone for it. Why did someone’s head have to roll?

Saying that he was really worried about Lily. His sister hadn’t spoken much since they got there and kept mostly to herself. Mum had tried to talk to her a few times but that didn’t seem to work. James felt the need to do something. He just didn’t know what.

Up ahead something caught his eye. Near the shoreline wind was kicking up sand to and fro. It was somewhat odd how it shaped itself into a small funnel. James scanned the area and when he found nothing alarming approached the sand cloud cautiously.

Standing above it, he gazed down at the foot wide oddity with curiosity. He was quite unprepared when it pulled him in.

XXXXXXXXXX

The SAMP officer’s demand fell flat as expected.

“Put down your wands and maybe I'll spare you!” the evil wizard hollered back, and said to Hermione, “Perhaps you should tell them.”

“Let’s take this outside,” Hermione suggested, “Avoid this nuisance.”

While more numbers in general was good, trying to apprehend a wizard like Malvado with an army was not going to work. More than two or three Aurors would get in each others’ way.

Malvado didn’t take the offer, “It’ll be more satisfying to kill you and Britain’s Minister for Magic in front of an audience.”

Wary from previous experience, Harry cast a broad shield to contain Malvado’s powerful Imperius curse and sent out a suggestive charm of his own. When the SAMP moved further back instead of attacking them Malvado’s eyes narrowed at him. A couple of bolts shot out from Malvado’s wand. Hermione anticipated the move and blocked them within inches of discharge. She drew fire for that but repelled them easily and countered with a salvo of hexes, forcing Malvado to defend himself.

Malvado’s inability to recruit bystanders to do his fighting for him had thrown him off his game plan. Harry joined Hermione on her counter-attack. The fast and furious exchange of curses cleared their immediate surroundings, as beings wisely took cover to avoid the crossfire and rebounding spells. Malvado couldn’t keep up with the steady flow of powerful hexes and was absorbing hit after hit after hit. As before, Malvado seemed to recover from whatever they threw at him very quickly but his counters were becoming few and far between. Both he and Hermione got off more spells than they were receiving. It seemed as if he was tiring from the constant regeneration.

They chased him off the stage. Malvado, recognizing possible defeat, was trying to leave Pag-asa. The path cleared up for him and he stumbled down the steps to the entrance.

On the one hand they almost had him but on the other hand he had a feeling Malvado was holding back something special for when he really needed it. Harry thought it better to let him leave, to continue the fight where there would be less possibility for civilian casualty, and looked at Hermione to see if that was still her preference.

It was. One of them would have to beat him to the gates, to box him in and prevent him from escaping. Hermione was closer and she hustled but she was having difficulty catching up. Harry figured that she was hurt as he noticed her favouring her left side. Her frustration was evident when she started dropping back. She fired a couple of curses to slow Malvado down but he was prepared and had no trouble with them. Malvado was almost at the opening.

Harry sped up and exited within a fraction of a second before Malvado did. Instantly he was relieved it was him in the lead and not Hermione. Within the upward moving tunnel Malvado fired at will, mostly at him. Harry turned to defend himself but quickened their pace, not comfortable in the prolonged defensive stance. He was also not keen on responding within closed quarters, especially with Hermione close behind.

He thought ahead. Once outside Pag-asa's borders Disapparition would be Malvado’s quickest getaway. Even if they could follow him Merlin only knew where he would Disapparate to and who else would be there. Their immediate task was to prevent that from happening or prepare for it if it did. He could only do one and hoped Hermione would think to do the other.

Harry looked up. Sunlight was filtering through from above and he could feel the crisp wind on his face. The opening was only a few meters away. He readied himself. As his body came out of the tunnel he fired successive disarming charms at Malvado.

Malvado’s wand sailed off in the air. Less worried about misses and deflections now that they were out in the open, Harry struck him with multiple hits to his torso as they rode the momentum of their exodus.

Harry made a mess of Malvado's body but none of that seemed to bother him and he didn't have time to dwell on how odd that was. Prior to losing his wand, Malvado was able to get shots off and they were about to connect.

He warded off the trailing spells just in time. Unexpectedly, the offensive and defensive spells merged and caused an explosive chain reaction. The impact rippled through Harry’s body and he got thrown back. They both landed hard on the forest ground on opposing sides of a large clearing, about a hundred meters apart.

Immediately they were on their feet. His foe had a wand in his hand, likely a spare. Malvado was going to Disapparate.

Thud!

The dark wizard’s wand arm literally fell off its socket. Hermione was standing right behind him, a wand in each hand. She had just given new meaning to disarming an opponent.

And Hermione didn't stop there. She magically hacked and slashed away at Malvado, cursing relentlessly. It was Harry's cue to join in but he couldn't shoot with Hermione so close. He rushed forward to join the fray.

Malvado proved to be agile, avoiding significant injury. That and he was recuperating from whatever wounds she inflicted upon him almost instantaneously. His detached limb had since re-grew and he made a move to attack her.

Hermione shot Malvado with both wands at close range, carving out a huge hole through the wizard. The tremendous power of the discharge stunned him a step back but with his reach he managed to strike her hard across the jaw. She had her hands full deflecting the ensuing blows. Despite giving it her all the reality was Malvado was stronger physically. He was also the better fighter. He found Hermione’s rib injury and punched her there several times, causing her to let go of her wands.

Harry reached them just as she fell on the ground and slammed hard into him, knocking him over. When Harry got up several curses came at him from close range. Malvado had acquired possession of one of Hermione’s wands. The first curse Harry parried off exploded just like the last one he tried to defend against and threw him back.

This was getting old.

Harry rolled with it and landed right-side up this time. He was eager to engage him again. By then Malvado's interest was finishing off a wandless Hermione. With quickness she grabbed Malvado's wand arm with both hands and pushed it across his body to divert his weapon tip away from her. It discharged, hitting a tree, instantly killing it. In the same motion she struck his knee to bend, planted an elbow to his nose, and stepped back. She spun and kicked him solidly right in the chest.

The separation gave Harry an opening. He blasted Malvado off his feet just as the latter aimed to curse her again, conjuring a blanket of chains, encasing their opponent in a steel cocoon. He then summoned the metallic prison and its contents closer to him and away from the visibly worn out Hermione.

But not a second later the entire thing burst into flames. Harry had to release the melting metal ropes to prevent his hand from burning. The fire swelled high and wide, raging angrily between them. Then amidst the crackling there was a pop. Harry had a bad feeling.

With a single spell he doused the fire. The smoke from the smouldering embers of the forest floor rapidly cleared out. Across the way Malvado had Hermione in a choke hold and was using her as a shield, his wand pointed at her head.

“Stop squirming!” Malvado pulled his arm tighter around her neck, “And you, that’s far enough! Put your wand down! I’ll blow her up, I swear!”

She was choking and bleeding somewhat on her left side but she still managed to say to him, “Shoot him, Harry!”

Malvado answered for him, “He knows it’s pointless. He can’t harm me with his inferior wand. Drop it, Potter. I won’t ask you a third time.”

Hermione looked him in the eye and pointed out the harsh reality, "He's going to kill me anyway."

Malvado laughed, "She is so right about that. But if you'd rather have her die by your hand then so be it."

Harry dropped his wand. It was time for Plan B and Hermione wasn't going to like it one bit.

"I'll get you the Elder wand," he said to Malvado.

"No!” Hermione protested immediately, “I'd rather die now!"

She was serious. He repeated what he said.

"I'll get you the wand in exchange for her life."

Hermione reasoned with him, "If he gets the wand so many others will die! Saving one life will mean nothing! Harry! There is good reason why we never negotiate with the dark side!"

"I have no choice. If I do nothing he'll kill you. And I can't let that happen."

She vented her frustration, “This is exactly why I didn’t want you involved in this!”

“It’s too bad the one you did involve bailed on you. So?” Harry negotiated, trying not to lose control of the situation, “Should I pick up my wand or do we have a deal?”

Malvado thought aloud, “I’ve been dying to kill her for a long time. If I kill her now you’ll still want the wand if only to ensure I don’t get it. Then I’ll get it soon enough. I don’t see anything in this deal for me.”

“Great point,” Hermione concurred.

Someone spoke out of turn, a familiar voice, “I would silence her if I were you.”

“Ah! Warren, it’s nice of you to join us,” Malvado welcomed him, “You’re just the person I wanted to see. I seem to have a conundrum here and am in need of advice.”

Warren had a ready response, “To kill or not to kill her – I agree it’s a tough one. I’ve struggled with that very question since the day we met.”

“We had him,” Hermione scolded Warren straightaway.

“You never had me,” Malvado corrected, “Or him. He played us both but, as you know, he has my blood in his veins. There is no fighting the darkness within him. I knew it and he knew it. He relied on the fact that you never accepted that.”

Great. Malvado was Warren’s long lost father. Harry quickly dismissed the fact that Hermione knew all this and never told him. He wanted to make a move but Malvado was watching him closely and he couldn’t afford to take risks with the dark wizard’s wand aimed at Hermione.

“Dad sounds so proud,” Harry tried to get a rise out of Warren, “What exactly do you get in return for selling out?”

“He’s going to be me,” Malvado answered for Warren.

Hermione glared at Warren, and the latter seemed distracted. Harry could tell they were talking behind the scenes but he was too far to pick up what they were talking about.

She said to him, “Don’t take the stone. This isn't over.”

“It is," Warren disagreed, then offered his advice, “If you kill her now Potter will definitely want the wand and the POTH will be so pissed they will hand it over to him, the wand and the rest of the Hallows too. You’ll be more evenly matched. If you want a little excitement in life, go ahead.”

“And the POTH, will they not give him everything now?”

“They probably will. But that won’t matter. He’s not going to use them against you as long as you have her and she’s alive. Right, Harry?”

“You’ve finally said something that I can agree with.”

"It's a good deal. I would take it."

Malvado asked, "Can he deliver?"

Warren looked Harry in the eye and said, "Harry always delivers."

It was decided.

"Very well. You give me the Elder wand, I give you the girl. A straight up exchange. No tricks Potter or the deal is off.”

“You have my word.”

“You have twenty-four hours. We’ll keep in touch.”

He locked eyes with her

Hang in there.

She didn’t say anything, her non-response telling of how she didn’t want him to bother coming back for her.

Malvado and Warren Disapparated, taking Hermione with them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo picked up a pebble close to his hand and stood up, recognizing where the book too him. He was on the bank of a river, the remains of those who failed to cross it in plain sight. Across the raging waters stood a majestic Elder tree seemingly just waiting for Death to fashion a wand out of it.

Moments later Al appeared, then James. They all looked at each other wondering what the other was doing there.

XXXXXXXXXX

Intra-Apparition Hermione secured Warren’s spare wand. Malvado noticed just as they came out of it. She fired at him at point blank range and cleaved his face in two. By then Warren had his stick out and attempted to disarm her but she saw it coming as he thought it. She split and diverted his curse, hitting a couple of Malvado’s men as they came to help.

Malvado was recovering fast. She Disapparated but didn’t go anywhere. Malvado’s camp had wards that prevented her from leaving. She swore to herself. She guessed it was time.

“I got this,” Warren offered and everyone else stood back, Malvado included.

Hermione had not fought Warren in a long time. He circled her, ready.

I can hear you think.

She heard his voice. She ignored it, still pissed at the asshole. She fired at him and he proved that he could.

I know you can hear me.

She parried off the string of hexes he sent her way.

Give it up. This is not going to end well.

You’re right. It isn’t. But I’m choosing how it’s going to end.

Hermione cleared her thoughts and attacked. She let instincts learned from years of fighting take over her wand and bombarded him with a chain of curses without thinking. It caught Warren off-guard. Just as she was about to run out of steam she hit him with a combination of Stunners that took the wind out of him and made him lose his weapon.

A curse was on its way to her, coming from behind. Recognizing that it was too late to defend herself she turned to face it.

The fiery sensation hit her and spread throughout her body instantaneously. The impact took her breath away. It felt like she was being ripped apart piece by piece and although screaming would have helped her breathe, she refused to give Malvado the satisfaction.

Then it was over. She dropped on all fours, catching her breath.

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

Malvado’s men wanted her blood. Something slipped around her neck and tightened. She couldn’t breathe.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. The scenes keep changing as I write them but hopefully we’ll reach the same ending I intended. Warren still bugs me. Will he or will he not save Hermione? And what do you think of the Three Brothers?

Would love to hear your thoughts about this one...

68. The Chameleon Unravelled

A/N. Your reviews on whether Warren should save Hermione or not made writing this chapter very hard. Serves me right for falling in love with him in this fic

Hope you enjoy this one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 68 - The Chameleon Unravelled

“Where are we?” James spoke first.

Hugo answered, “Somewhere along the Neva River in Saint Petersburg.”

He picked up this trivia during one of his visits there with his Mum. What he didn't mention was the likelihood that they were not in the present.

“Is this for real?” Al asked.

James punched him hard in the arm.

“Ow!” Al rubbed the spot James hit.

“It's real,” their older brother established, “So, why are we here?”

They were looking at him. Hugo took an educated guess.

“I think we have to build a bridge and go across.”

He motioned across the river towards the Elder tree. It finally dawned on his brothers where they were.

“Wait,” Al, always the cautious one, weighed in before they got any further, “I know the story. First of all, Death is on the other side of the bridge. I'm not keen on meeting Death right now. And secondly, do we have to cross the river?”

James, the brash, somewhat reckless one, argued back, “I know the story too. But unless you have some fiancée who died before you married her and want her back I don't see why you should be afraid to meet Death. And yes, we have to cross. There's no road behind us. I don't fancy staying here forever and I don't want to jump into the river. That leaves one choice.”

Al answered back, “But none of us have ever built a bridge before.”

Hugo conceded, “Good point.”

“How hard can it be?” James reasoned with them, “Come on. We're Potters. We can do anything we set our minds to. Just aim your wands over the river, think `bridge' and conjure one.”

Hugo wasn't really inspired by James' `We're Potters' speech but he did think they needed to build a bridge and that was a good enough reason for him. They did as James suggested and sure enough they conjured one.

Before they stepped onto it Al asked, "What do we say if Death asks us what we want?"

His older brother replied, "Good question. It'll be kind of lame meeting death and coming back with nothing."

"I think we need to be very careful. It could be a ruse."

"We'll just have to make sure we're smart about it. The brother who got the cloak did well."

Hugo couldn't find the courage to speak up. Both James and Al spoke with a confidence he wished he had.

Al, noticing his retiscence, sought his opinion, "What do you think?"

"I was told that we'll find the answer to Malvado here. Maybe It will give us something Hallows like. I suppose we'll know for sure when we meet It."

Hugo proposed that they discuss it further when they had more information. His suggestion was seemingly well received although he was worried somewhat about James. The truth was he didn't completely trust his brother. James could potentially steer the entire thing to be about something else. Hugo hoped he had more information to work on.

They all got on the bridge and as they came to the other side a ghostly figure in a black cloak approached. It was as if Death was expecting them.

Death said, “You are brothers by blood.”

“We are,” James answered confidently for them.

“And of Peverell descent."

Hugo didn't hesitate to confirm, "Yes."

"I've waited decades for this day to come."

James replied, "We're here."

They waited for any hint or clue of what Its wait was about. But Death did not explain Itself and instead, circled them three times and hovered behind them.

After some time It spoke with dejection, "You are not here to give back the Peverell Hallows."

"We don't have the Hallows," Al answered honestly, too quickly.

"That's disappointing," it commented, then went on in a disinterested voice, "Like your ancestors you've proven great skill in eluding me and I wish to reward you something worthwhile for your efforts, blah, blah, blah... What will it be?"

It turned to James, probably because he looked the oldest and waited.

Hugo spoke before James could say anything, "Why did you assume we came to give you back the Hallows?"

"It was more a hope than an assumption."

"Why?"

"I was told to wait by this bridge until three brothers with Peverell blood returned with the Hallows and to accept them if they unanimously decided to give them up," It sighed, "It's been a long wait."

Al held up one finger and asked rhetorically, "Can you give us a moment?"

They huddled closer with their backs to Death.

"How will giving back the Hallows help get rid of Malvado?" Al asked the burning question.

“It's not logical,” Hugo echoed Al's puzzlement, “I was told that someone with the Elder wand would have a better chance against him."

"And I overheard Uncle Ron tell Ted that uniting the Hallows would give the best outcomes against any Invincible.”

“Eavesdropping again?” Al said with a tone of disapproval.

“I was curious,” James defended himself, then concluded, “So, giving back the Hallows can't be the answer.”

"Hold on a sec," Al cautioned them, "Are we absolutely sure we're not missing anything?"

James replied, "Look. Even if it is the answer it's moot. We don't have the Hallows with us. The question is do we leave empty handed and hope that we can come back to this same spot with the Hallows, if we can even get the Hallows, and meet Death again, or do we ask for something else to fight Malvado with?"

"Like what?" Hugo wanted to know what his brother was thinking.

James shrugged, "I don't know. Like a new set of Hallows. Whatever works. Death must know."

Hugo and Al looked at each other. James was making a lot of sense but Hugo didn't like the decision they were faced with. His Mum spent years trying to keep the current Hallows hidden and finding ways to destroy them and yet here he was contemplating about getting a second set. What concerned him more was that they didn't even know exactly what to ask for.

"You know I'm right," James followed up, then made his preferences clear, "Meeting Death and being offered this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I vote we take what we can now."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Al aired his unease.

"You never have a good feeling about anything," James dismissed Al's remark quickly and turned to Hugo with a challenge, "What do you think?"

They were waiting on his answer and Death was waiting on them. He wasn't going to hesitate and let James decide for them. He approached Death who had grown suspicious during the wait.

"Ah, the youngest is always the one who gives me the most trouble," it said bitterly, "Ignotus cheated me twice. Don't even try."

The chilling warning was enough to make the tiny hairs behind his neck stand.

"We didn't come here to trick you," Hugo explained, trying hard to cover up how intimidated and scared he was, "We need your help to fight Malvado."

"The One with the Invincibility Stone who refuses to give it up."

"He claims to be Death's son, your son," James brought up.

Death didn't like what James implied, "His invincibility through the stone was loaned to him by Death. If I give you something to use does that make you my son? Were the Peverells Sons of Death too? There is no Son of Death. It means nothing here."

"Hugo is the son of the Mistress of Death. Does that mean something?" Al asked.

The mention of his Mum seemed to calm Death a notch.

"That depends on which Death you ask. How is your mother?" Death inquired, "I haven't seen her down here in twelve years."

"She's in trouble. Malvado is after her.”

“Too bad she's retired.”

“We need to know how to defeat him."

"You keep saying that. Why do you think I can help you with this?"

"I was told to look for the answer in my Mum's book. I looked in the book and found you. Can you help us?"

James spoke, with a plea, “Malvado is a Dark wizard. He's destroying everything that's good in our world. You have to help us!”

Death replied in a philosophical tone, “You are young and naive. This Being, Malvado, exists in your realm for a reason. You may not agree with what he does but he, like each and every person who walks your world, has a purpose. If you look at your history it has been a study of the constant battle between good and evil. There is no good without evil, no peace without war, no joy without suffering.”

“But you gave him the stone,” Al argued, “You gave him the means to do bad things. Don't you feel responsible?”

“Not at all,” Death replied without remorse, “Each invincibility stone by itself isn't evil but the being chose to use the stone for a purpose other than what it was intended for."

"So, we take it you can't reward us with a powerful wand or a magical stone or a special cloak that will help us defeat him?" James asked to the point.

"If that's what you want."

Death raised its scythe. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed. The wind picked up, the ground shook, the river bank swelled to its brink and as the waters cascaded towards them the bridge they conjured was swept downstream. It crashed violently against the huge rocks and splintered into a million pieces.

A loud, cracking sound came from the Elder tree as a bolt hit. It was split in half and a piece came out of it, transforming into an intimidating looking wand.

Death's voice loomed ominously, "The Wand of Wands, the most powerful wand ever created, even more powerful than the one you refer to as the Deathstick. It is filled with pure magic that even ordinary Muggles and Squibs will be able to conjure spells with it. It will be unbeatable in the hands of any wizard with unwavering confidence, perfect for you Mr. Potter."

As the wand moved towards James two pebbles lifted off from the river bed. They circled Al a few times before they merged, oddly forming a smaller one.

"The Stone of No Consequence. Turning this stone thrice in hand will result in a better outcome for any undesired consequence, including death. With it comes worry-free decision making. It's just the thing for you, Mr. Potter."

Death then cut a piece of his own cloak and sent it Hugo's way.

"And for you, the Cloak of Relativity to allow you to transport yourself without limit to any place or time you desire. Just imagine the many past, present and future events you can influence and alter with it."

The magical objects floated in front of them, inviting them to take ownership. Both James and Al were visibly entranced thinking about the possibilities. Hugo too could imagine how handy the cloak would be against Malvado. But in spite of the fact that it was a once in a lifetime opportunity, none of them, not even James, pounced on it.

Death, noticing their reluctance, challenged them, "What are you waiting for? Take them. I know they are what you desire."

Hugo boldly faced Death and asked, "What's the downside?"

Death didn't seem to mind the question, "They work only in matters that concern your realm. And if you know the story of the Hallows then you know that these objects can make or break whoever possesses them. Many great wizards and witches will be humbled by them just as many have been humbled by the Hallows. Can you look within your hearts and truly know that you are worthy to possess them? What makes you so special?"

At that point Hugo was just worried about his Mum. He needed to know.

"Are these the answers we were meant to find?"

"If you have to ask that question then you must have doubts that they aren't. Not feeling special enough?”

James interjected, “With all due respect, Death, all this is wonderful. Any other day we would take them right away but it would be nice to know what our alternatives are.”

“Do you think it coincidence that all three of you were drawn into the book to meet me? I cannot tell you what to do. Take what I offer or leave without them.”

Death made a good point. It wasn't coincidence that he brought his brothers here. He couldn't think it coincidence either that Death was waiting for three brothers born with Peverell blood. On the other hand, just about anybody could come here, make a bridge, and claim Death's prize.

The ultimatum solved Hugo's indecision. He looked at both Al and James to let them know what his decision was. He then politely declined Death's offering and walked past It. He overheard Al do the same as the vortex that brought him here took him away.

XXXXXXXXXX

Al suddenly found himself in front of Gates again as if he had never left.

"I need your assistance," he heard Gates say.

The older man was too quick for him and hit him with a spell. A series of unfamiliar memories came to him. One moment he was watching his father chase Malvado to the village exit and the next moment he was on a broom leaving Pag-asa and heading for someplace called Mount Ingkanto.

XXXXXXXXXX

James reappeared near the sea shore looking at a hole in the sand.

He jumped and drew his wand out as he felt someone approaching from behind.

Ted had both hands up, quickly telling him, "It's just me."

"Did you see that?!" James asked.

"See what?"

Ted looked confused. The Auror obviously didn't. James wondered if he just imagined it.

James asked, "Are they back yet?"

"Al and your Dad are still in Pag-asa. Hugo and Rosie are with Uncle Ron at the Ministry," Ted answered, "What's going on, James?"

"I'm not sure," he acknowledged, "I want to see Hugo."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo was back in the chair staring at the last page of the tale. Odd. Everybody else was looking over his shoulder, reading it with him. The book looked ordinary now, as thick as the other version on the table and it was as if he never left his seat.

He said to them, "I need to see the POTH."

XXXXXXXXXXX

Moments later...

The noose tightened around her neck. Hermione told herself it wouldn't be much longer. She would pass out soon and she wouldn't feel anything anymore.

Warren's voice was in her head again.

Have you gone mad?! I know that you'd rather die than be some token prisoner but you have something to live for. You have children who need you, great schools to build, people in high places to annoy. Think big picture. Work with me here.

He wasn't going to let her go. Amidst the celebrating he put a bug in Malvado's ear.

“You do know this is exactly what she wants you to do. She wants you to kill her now so Potter doesn't have to give you the wand.”

“Ahhhh!” Malvado cried out, releasing the choke hold in frustration, “She is infuriating!”

Hermione was on her knees coughing involuntarily as she gasped for air.

“Sit her down and hold her!” Malvado commanded.

Warren's thoughts went into overdrive. Two men grabbed her and did as Malvado instructed. Her captor was determined, angry determined.

“This is totally unnecessary,” Warren argued.

Malvado spat at Warren, “She wants to die, I want to kill her. I say we're going to be both pleased about this.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry went back to Pag-asa to look for Al. The SAMP had things under control. The dead and wounded were being cared for and the prisoners were being ushered away but he couldn't find Al.

The burly SAMP officer wanted to talk to him but Harry brushed him off. Every second that passed brought a sense of dread in him.

"Warren must have taken him," Maria said. Gracie was on the ground beside her with a blank gaze and a wooden stake through her chest. She added, "One of the boys saw them together."

He clenched his fists to keep his emotions in check. He was angry at himself for misjudging the depths of Warren's duplicity. Things became more clear. It explained somewhat why Warren never arrested the Dark wizard but more so why Malvado kept Warren alive. Warren was slated to be Malvado's next incarnation.

Knowing Warren he would have no desire to be the next vessel. His continued existence was proof that he did not turn Malvado down outright. He must have strung Malvado along, promising and making deals to keep the status quo going while working on Hermione to give him access to the Hallows. In the year Hermione didn't deliver. Malvado must have found out his true intentions and lost patience.

He remembered what she said to him.

He cares about me and my family. He doesn't care about yours.

Harry should have taken the warning gravely. Considering that Warren betrayed her Harry could only imagine what he had planned for Al Polyjuiced as Hugo.

His phone rang. It was Dovalov. He wanted to meet at the Ministry.

"I'm coming with you," Maria wasn't giving him a choice.

Harry figured he could use some help. They left Pag-asa.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione recovered and was more lucid. She watched Malvado unstopper a vial filled with thick, murky, sludge-like potion. Survival instincts kicked in but she didn't have the strength to fight the brute force holding her down. It was futile to struggle.

Malvado was taking his time now, describing to her what it was and what would happen in twenty-four hours. She wasn't interested. She was very worried about what Warren was going to do.

Fuck...this is not good...

That was Warren. Their mental connections were flowing fluidly now. Hermione felt the conflict battling within him, each escape scenario that played in his head ending badly. He was furious, frustrated that he was about to do something they both knew was going to be pointless. His fingers wrapped tightly around his wand. She had to stop him.

Let me go.

I obviously have a problem doing that.

You saw this happening, she reminded him, Let me go.

Quit messing with my head. Just be ready.

Stick with your plan.

You don't agree with my plan.

This is my fate. It doesn't have to be yours.

You don't fucking believe in fate.

But you do and you know mine won't change no matter what you do. You've delayed this for months. I will never allow Hugo to be the one as long as I'm alive. So make up your mind. Is he or isn't he?

Dammit, Hermione!

It was too late; the potion emptied into her veins. Whatever it was it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

XXXXXXXXXX

As Hugo told them about the meeting with Death, the chamber door opened. A man walked in. His Dad, Unspeakable Boots and Aunt Jessie had their wands out.

"Auror Dovalov."

"Auror Weasley. I mean no trouble."

"This is a secure area. Visitors are not allowed."

"My apologies," the man said, "I spoke with Minister. We meet here."

"Is this about the Hallows?" Aunt Jessie asked.

"I can't say. I am not Keeper."

XXXXXXXXXX"

James recounted the strange meeting with Death to the rest of the family.

Aunt Anne was the first to comment, "You poor child, cracking under all this pressure."

Huh?

Aunt Fleur was just as worried, "Ginny, he muzt ze my Ee-ler."

"No, wait...I'm fine, really."

He tried to stop her but to no avail. Aunt Fleur walked off, presumable to send an owl. James looked at his Mum. She seemed to believe him. Ted weighed in.

"Hugo is at the Ministry. With Uncle Ron there it should be safe enough."

Knowing Ted had to stay, James offered, "I can go by myself."

His Mum, still worried about Al, replied, "I'd rather you didn't go on your own."

She told Lily to get ready. They were leaving in five minutes.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry opened the door to the windowless interrogation room and found Dovalov pacing.

"I am sorry to hear about son. I hope things end well for him," the Russian Auror said earnestly.

Harry did not have time for pleasantries.

"You wanted to see me."

Dovalov handed him a sealed envelope with his name on it.

"One finds if one seeks with heart for right reason,” the Russian instructed, pointing at Harry's chest, “Like other one they are on loan. We ask you return to us for safekeeping after."

For a second Harry was tempted to point out that the cloak was his but figured now wasn't the time to do that.

"Is that it?" he asked, somewhat miffed.

Dovalov was puzzled by his question. He added, "Malvado has Hermione. Isn't the POTH going to help?"

"We have purpose higher than one life."

"It's four POTH lives, countless others, and counting."

"Hermione forbade our help."

"That doesn't mean she doesn't need it," Harry replied, “I get it that your task is to ensure that the Hallows don't fall into the wrong hands but this is bigger than the Hallows. Is your allegiance to her limited by the POTH's mission?”

The Russian blushed, irked by his frankness, but did not attempt any more excuses.

"You're right. We'd rather her angry at us than her dead. Let me know when you have plan."

Dovalov left.

XXXXXXXXXX

“Lock her up!” Malvado told his men.

As they took Granger away Malvado ordered his lieutenants to get everyone back to camp and to prepare for what was to come. The crowd dispersed. Weariness fell upon him. His fight with Potter and Granger took a lot out of him and his aged body needed to rest. However, there was still one important matter that he had to address.

He turned to face the glare from his son. Warren was livid.

Malvado said to him, “Need I remind you of the many times you've tried to kill me and failed? Be wise. Put your wand away.”

In spite the pent up rage that wanted out Warren controlled himself and did as he was instructed. With the anger Malvado tasted despair and hopelessness, emotions he had never sensed in Warren before. It seemed that his son had finally accepted his destiny.

“We do the transfer after she dies. If you refuse you will join her in the afterlife.”

“If I wanted a pointless death I'd have chosen to have one earlier. Why don't we do it now?” Warren asked, “Potter won't expect it.”

That amused him and puzzled him at the same time. For months Warren had stalled him, searching for a way out of taking the stone. And now here he was asking for it. Was this a sign of complete resignation or was this another one of his games? At this point Malvado didn't really care about the games anymore. He decided to err on the side of caution.

“No,” Malvado declined the proposal, “We wait until she dies.”

Warren saw right through it and called it, “You're afraid of her.”

“I've seen her screw you up. I don't want the woman in my head.”

“Cowardly but smart. I don't blame you. She can be a bitch.”

The kid was patronizing him and was no longer angry. Malvado was certain he was up to something.

He gave a warning, “I will not tolerate any more bullshit from you. You best behave yourself. Do you understand?”

Warren looked him in the eye and responded without hesitation, “Absolutely.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry quickly opened the parchment that Dovalov handed him. The page was empty.

By then the others had come in to join him.

Ron commented on the obvious, “There's nothing on it.”

Padma tried a revealing spell but that didn't make a difference.

Then Harry remembered what the Russian said.

One finds if one seeks with heart for right reason.

Ron asked, “Do you want me to get Dovalov back?”

He shook his head, “Give me a minute.”

Harry searched within him and realized that while he wanted to find the rest of the Hallows desperately he didn't have the right reasons. They were merely a means to an end. Having duelled Malvado for the second time, like Hermione, he was not convinced that using the Elder wand against him was the answer.

And there was something unnatural about being the Master of Death that he was intrinsically opposed to. If he happened upon the Hallows and became it then great but he had no burning desire to be immortal even though he was about to fight one, at least not enough to seek the rest of the Hallows.

The truth of the matter was he was prepared to do what Malvado wanted him to do. The Elder wand was powerful, yes, but it was not unbeatable. Professor Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald even though the latter was its master for a long time and Voldemort lost to him. Harry was confident he could out-duel Malvado any time with any wand. Getting Hermione back was a priority and he wasn't about to take any chances.

Obviously the POTH would have issues about his true intentions. He had to hand it to them and the Keeper; they covered their bases. If only he could lie to himself or convince himself that the Hallows were the answer.

Way to go Potter... great time to have principles.

“We have a problem,” he admitted to the puzzled group, “I need a better reason to want the Hallows.”

“Saving Hermione's life not bloody enough?!” Ron was irate.

Harry didn't take it personally, “Not to the POTH.”

“I have one,” Hugo spoke up, all eyes turned to him, “The POTH has been trying to get rid of the Hallows for a long time. I know how.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Warren Gates surrendered his wands to the two Dementors guarding the sub-terrain prison and went into the chamber outside Hermione's cell. There were a couple of armed Muggles in the room keeping a watchful eye on her, wary of what she was capable of even in her weaponless state. Malvado wasn't taking any chances with her.

She was lying on the wooden cot propped up against the far corner of the 6 foot by 4 foot room, eyes closed and motionless, passed out from the poison Malvado gave her. Irreversible and without a known antidote, the slow acting Asphyxiatus potion would eventually render her cells incapable of absorbing oxygen. It would take full effect in a matter of hours.

"Let me in," he said to her guards.

"Only Malvado can unlock it," one of them answered.

Warren didn't make a fuss. He pulled one of the nearby stools as close to her as he could and took a seat, looked at her as he allowed rare guilt to fill him. He betrayed her just as he knew he would. When push came to shove, he could not give up the one card he had left, not even to save her life.

And she absolutely did not want him to give it up for her. Hermione was well aware how much the case meant to him. His father grew stronger and more powerful with each rebirth. For months they searched for a permanent solution to the dark wizard's invincibility and they had nothing other than Warren's unique position to work Malvado from the inside. Recognizing how important that opportunity was, Hermione knew just what to say to him to make him hesitate and told him exactly what he wanted to hear, even though she didn't approve of what he was about to do.

Warren needed to talk to her. He gently nudged past her natural mental defences navigated through the familiar maze, linked minds with her then called out her name.

Waterloo.

Hermione slowly regained consciousness.

Don't get up. We need to talk.

She probed her current situation through him and was very disappointed that she was in prison and not dead.

How long have I been out? she asked, calmer than he expected she would be.

Four hours.

Last day of my life and you didn't think to wake me sooner? she jibed.

He couldn't get himself to be amused about it.

Why do I listen to you?

It was the right thing to do.

It doesn't feel right.

He would have killed you too and for nothing.

That certainly makes me feel much better.

It's done, Warren. Let's not waste time talking about things we can't change. Does Harry have the wand yet?

The Keeper made contact.

She wasn't pleased about that. He tried to reassure her.

Harry is not stupid. He's not going to give it to Malvado.

You don't know that. Harry doesn't care about the wand like we do. And, even if he didn't hand the wand over, Malvado isn't stupid either. He'll find a way.

Harry is a big boy. He can take care of himself.

If you really believed that you wouldn't have tried to keep him away from Malvado. You wanted the wand out for Hugo and you knew Harry's the only one the POTH will trust. You couldn't risk him getting killed.

He should have left Pag-asa like you told him to. And when he offered the wand in exchange for you, I resent the fact that he didn't even hesitate. He's so predictably heroic. He makes the rest of us look bad.

Harry is not going to let Hugo near Malvado.

Whether you like it or not, the Hag's prediction will come true.

I hate it when you get prophetic on me.

He's going to die too if he gets in the way.

Look. You think it's pointless for anyone other than Hugo to stand up to Malvado. We already agreed to disagree on that. I know you're doing this because you hate your father to the core and would do anything to give Hugo an advantage. I appreciate that you're helping Hugo but there are other ways to reel Malvado in.

Like what? Like the ones we didn't find this past year?

You don't have to take the stone.

He tested her, But you told me to stick with my plan.

That was earlier, when you were about to do something stupid. Now, what you're about to do is still stupid.

If I don't take the stone he'll kill me anyway. He's not going to wait anymore.

Then you leave this place and live to fight another day.

And waste this unique opportunity to fight him from within?

Don't allow him to use you. Even if you survive you won't be you anymore.

That's sweet but you won't care. You'll be dead by then.

Seriously, Warren. If he becomes you he'll be a Biomorph. He won't ever need to relinquish the stone to someone else. He can transform to any person he wants for as long as he wants. You'd be doing the world a favour if you say `no'.

And suffer a more pointless death than what you just convinced me to pass on? He'll just find another Biomorph, one without my experience or you as a back-up.

You're a suicidal lunatic.

Pot calling kettle.

Get me out of here.

I need your help.

I'm not going to help you kill yourself for some prediction.

I might make it.

Don't bullshit me. You believe the prophecy too much. You don't have any hope that you'll come out of this alive.

Well you have lots. You can hope for the both of us.

We don't even know if I can get to you after you get the stone.

Because it involved Hugo, Warren had long ago accepted the fact that there was no convincing her to agree to his plan. He didn't come here for her blessing. He just wanted to hear her engage him in a spirited discussion one last time.

He said to her, I didn't want to go without saying goodbye.

The heavy chains rattled as she sat up and faced him. She picked up on what he was about to do.

“I've asked the kitchen to prepare your last meal.”

“That's very thoughtful. You didn't have to.” You don't have to do this.

“I insist. Steak and grilled asparagus.” Try to be smart about it this time.

“I can hardly wait,” she got up from the bed and rattled the thick metal bars, shouting, “Guard! Get your boss in here! I need to talk to him!”

The men looked confused. They hesitated.

Geez Waterloo! Are you helping or not?

I am not watching you kill yourself!

Then you better close your eyes.

Warren took a vial from his cloak pocket and un-stoppered it.

“Guard! Tell Malvado he's about to lose Gates!”

He lifted the potion up in a toast and smiled at her.

"See you on the other side.”

“Guard!”

Warren downed the contents of the vial in one swig. The effects were instantaneous. The bottle fell and shattered. Within seconds his legs gave way and he was struggling to breathe. Hermione was on her knees on the floor with him just inside her cell.

She scolded him, Poison?! You chose poison because I was poisoned?!

He laughed quietly as she figured correctly the Shakespearean tragedy that was the source of his inspiration.

I was feeling poetic. Don't worry. I promise to keep the embarrassing declarations to a minimum. “Shit. I didn't think it would act this quickly...guard, you heard the woman, hurry...!”

He felt her hand hold his. He held it back, tight. As hard as he tried not to he gave in and looked into her eyes. The steady stream of her innermost thoughts came to him. They warmed him and pained him at the same time.

That in a nutshell was how they had been to each other. His one regret with her was that he never loved her enough to be content with what she could give him. That thought brought tears to her eyes. She was never one who could keep it together.

"You've always been a selfish bastard," she chided then said to him with affection, You're a good man, Warren Gates. Don't you forget it.

You've obviously lowered your standards considerably since we met.

That brought a smile to her face. She replied, I'm glad I did.

He remembered her friendship and her companionship. It gave him peace knowing that he made as much a difference in her life as she did in his.

Malvado arrived, enraged by his audacity to move the stone transfer schedule sooner than planned. It was a small victory. He and Hermione needed time to figure Malvado out before Harry came. Hopefully it would be enough.

Hermione read him right. He had no delusion that he would survive this but he was going to make it interesting.

His father had no choice. Malvado asked Warren to take the stone. Warren accepted.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. I know they have both been through so much but in the end I had to write Warren as true to his character as I could. I hope I did him justice even though he is definitely not like Harry.

-->

69. The Fountain of Hope

A/N. Yes, for those who were beginning to wonder - I'm still alive and still working on this.

Time flies. Has it really been 5 months since our last update? What I really wanted to do was finish all the chapters before posting but recent notes from some of you (and thank you for the constant reminders) have convinced me to abandon that lofty plan. I absolutely agree that this story needs to be finished, not only for its readers but also for Harry and Hermione who deserve a happy ending.

Here's the latest installment.

XXXXXXXXX

Chapter 69 - The Fountain of Hope

Harry listened as Hugo recanted their meeting with Death. His mention of Al being alive was a relief though Harry wished there was some indication where Al would have gone back to. Maybe they could get to him through the book and he made a note to ask Padma to look into that.

Hugo excitedly told them that Death assumed they had come to return the Peverell Hallows. And although Harry found it curious that Death offered them more artefacts, he was relieved that Hugo refused them. The new set of Hallows would have helped them against Malvado but their presence would have added to the reasons for the invincibility stone's existence, and Malvado would have benefited more. More than ever he was convinced that the best way to get rid of Malvado once and for all was to return the Hallows to where they came from. And Hugo had found a way through Hermione's book.

This was the break they were looking for. Harry shared what Hermione told him.

“The invincibility stones were created by Death and given to certain individuals like Malvado to purposely counteract powers that give mortals immortality."

"Like the Hallows," Ron followed up.

"Yes."

"So Malvado has always known about the Hallows," Jessie was surprised.

"Yes."

"Why does he want the Hallows now?" Jessie followed up, "Why the sudden interest?"

"An immortal recently decided to permanently reside in another realm," Harry answered, "Malvado found out that the Peverell Hallows are the only reasons left for his stone's power.

"Malvado knew the POTH had the Hallows, and more importantly, of their intention to destroy them. He began tracking them down, to eliminate them and to ensure the Hallows remained hidden.

“But he underestimated the POTH. When it became clear to him that he couldn't completely get rid of the POTH, he figured that possessing the Hallows, even if just one of them, would ensure his continued invincibility.”

Ron added, "And he prefers the wand for the obvious reasons."

Jessie summed it up, “So, the Hallows must exist here for his stone to work. If the boys can return the Hallows to Death in the other realm...”

Padma finished her sentence, "...his invincibility stone will lose it's power here."

Ron concluded for them, “And Malvado will be mortal.”

They were finally on the same page. They gathered around him as he opened the POTH parchment again. Ink began appearing on it almost instantaneously, revealing the locations of all three Hallows. Europe...Great Britain...London...the exact street address and the building's facade appeared and then the places within it where the three Hallows were.

The Resurrection stone inside the old, worn out Snitch warmed up in his pocket.

The Invisibility Cloak was somewhere in the room with them.

And, all these years, the Deathstick lay undisturbed in the busiest part of the Ministry of Magic. He and countless others walked by it every day, clueless that the most powerful wand was there all along.

XXXXXXXXXX

Warren was fading quickly. Hermione got flung aside by a repelling spell as Malvado grabbed Warren by the collar and lifted him off his feet. The impact with the cement floor caused her to lose connection and before she could regain it, the smooth, black stone had made a complete transfer.

Instantly Malvado's old body folded into a limp heap. Warren slumped on his knees and let out a bone shattering cry.

“Arrghhh!”

Warren writhed in agony. He struggled to get up, stumbled and staggered about, his entire body out of control. He was morphing indiscriminately into shapes and forms of identities Hermione had never seen him use before. Drawing a wand from Malvado's rapidly decomposing body, he cursed one of the guards who was trying to help. The other one shot him with an automatic and received an AK for the panicked response.

Hermione, hindered by the chains on her wrists and ankles, forced her eyes shut and concentrated. She managed to link up with Warren's mind again.

It was a war-zone; there was fire everywhere. The bit of Malvado that came with the stone was trying to burn down Warren's defences to gain command of his physical body.

Outside their connection she heard spells ricocheting off the walls, floors and ceilings, as Warren tried to regain control. She ignored them to maintain her focus.

Where are you? she asked.

No response. Warren had retreated into the deep recesses of his mind to elude Malvado's mental attack. Distant voices came to her over the raging blaze.

Give it up.

Fuck you!

Your mother said the very same thing. That's how she ended up with you.

More flames sprang out, torching everything within sight. Malvado laughed derisively as Warren let out another cry. A sudden, uncharacteristic hopelessness engulfed him. She felt it too. It was the cold, draining sensation of life being literally sucked out of her.

Dementors.

The vaults within Warren's mind buckled under the intense heat and the Dementor pressure. He haphazardly conjured his wolf-like Patronus but Malvado's influence made it weak and ineffective. Hermione had to do something, and quick.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Harry looked up and saw eager faces. They didn't see what he did.

He turned to Hugo and said to him, “I need your rucksack.”

Hugo was puzzled but answered anyway, “I don't have it. I left it at Pag-asa.”

There was nothing strange about anything anymore.

“It's here, in this room,” Harry replied, looking around, "The cloak is in it."

Without question, everybody followed suit.

“I found it,” Rosie announced, fetched it from the corner of the room at the corner opposite the main doors.

Ron took it from her, emptied the contents on the table and held up the invisibility cloak that Hugo used on him at the fair.

“Finite incantatem,” Ron tried the spell but that didn't do anything.

Padma took a turn, “Revelio.”

Harry frowned. He touched the cloak. Instantly he knew.

“It's not the one.”

Rosie and Hugo went through the other items on the table while Ron turned Hugo's rucksack inside out.

“Hermione must have put some secret compartment extendable charm on it,” Ron suggested, then pointed his wand into the pack as he held it open, “Accio invisibility cloak.”

Still nothing. They could always count on Hermione to make things more challenging.

“Did your Mum mention anything at all about this?” Jessie asked Hugo.

Hugo was as frustrated, shaking his head as he replied, "We packed it soon after she took the Malvado assignment. She said it was always good to be prepared, just in case. I didn't see her put in any other cloak aside from that one.”

Padma let out an audible sigh and turned to Harry, “Any more ideas?”

He had one. According to the POTH the cloak was somewhere in front of them; they had no reason to lie. Hermione wouldn't be foolish to give Hugo something so valuable without telling him unless she put safeguards to ensure it would remain with their son.

The rucksack was charmed to follow Hugo.

He aimed his wand at it.

Aparecium.

The stitches that held it at its seams unknotted, the rucksack unfolded and straightened out, transforming into his invisibility cloak.

XXXXXXXXXX

James paced impatiently as his sister argued with their Mum.

Lily continued to be defiant, "I am not going with you just to confirm James' delusional story about meeting Death!”

“I did not imagine it!” he retorted.

“I don't care! I am not going!”

His Mum told Lily, “I am not leaving you here on your own.”

“Then don't go,” Lily answered back.

Lily was being a brat and he would have said it had he thought it would make a difference. His Mum was frustrated and he was.

He needed to see Hugo so he suggested one more time, "Mum, really, I'll be fine on my own."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione wasn't entirely convinced she could do it but it was the only thing she could think of. Drawing every happy thought and emotion she could, Hermione conjured her Patronus through the wand in Warren's hand.

It worked, or at least it felt like it did. She pressed on. It took considerable effort to remain focussed. With haste, she propped up Warren's mental defences but it was too little too late. Malvado had just broken into a part of Warren's mind, the part Warren never even allowed her into. Warren was unlocking the door to her cell and was approaching her with purpose.

“Your eyes, open them,” she heard Malvado say in Warren's voice.

She obeyed the command and held back her surprise. The scarred, deformed face before her took her aback.

Malvado was amused, "He never showed you what he really looked like. Grotesque doesn't quite sum it up, does it?"

Hermione didn't answer. She was aware from their initial trust exercise with the Hag that Warren suffered significant physical injuries when he was a boy, when Malvado killed his mother and tried to kill him, but she never imagined it was this bad. She looked past the appearance and deeply into Warren's grey eyes. The absolute lack of familiarity unnerved her.

"Where is he?" she asked, searching.

Malvado boasted eerily much like Warren sounded, “I am him and he is me. I have complete control.”

And to prove it Malvado morphed skillfully into many different identities before settling into Warren's likeness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Ministry Atrium was almost empty now save for the few employees quietly leaving work for the day. Harry gave the signal and his most trusted Aurors began diverting traffic to an alternate exit.

He stood in front of the Fountain of Hope and looked at the structure in detail for the first time in a very long while. The boy wizard statue's likeness to him still disturbed him every time.

Harry always wondered why Hermione brought it upon herself to be involved in the creation of the Atrium centrepiece. He remembered how she joined the Rebuilding Committee with Percy when she first arrived at the Ministry following her stint with the NAIMP. She pushed for the sacking of the artist commissioned to create it and initiated the process to name a new one. He recalled thinking it odd why she would choose to be involved, how she appeared to care way too much, how he thought she would think the project frivolous, but considering how the Atrium rebuilding had gone on for years without end, it seemed only sensible to get someone like her to see it through.

And that she did. The Atrium project was completed the year after Lily and Hugo were born, to the relief of hundreds of Ministry employees who were sick and tired of the endless construction work. Her motive for taking lead in the project was now clear. She buried the Elder wand somewhere within the massive sculpture knowing it would be untouched for decades and where it would be under the watchful eye of a few POTH members, including Phil the Prophet Elf whose newsstand stood just meters away.

Ron, who had been standing quietly beside him, spoke up, "How do we do this exactly?"

He meant without causing undue notice. It was a good question. They had scanned for the wand moments ago but, as expected, didn't detect any hint of it. Hermione knew Ministry security periodically searched for magical threats and would have made sure the signature wouldn't be picked up.

They had to look for it the hard way. Do they start with the likely and take apart the statue of the boy wizard or go with one of the other young beings?

Harry didn't want to waste time. A thought came to him. The purpose of the POTH was to keep the wand from ever being used again, which meant Hermione would have tried to destroy it at some point and failed. And if Hermione couldn't destroy it, he doubted that he could even if he tried.

"I know that look," Ron said then warned him, "She's going to kill you, and me, then you again."

Harry shrugged, "We'll tell her it was an accident."

"Which she will believe hook, line and sinker, because she knows how much you love this piece of art."

"She's in danger. We don't have time," he reasoned logically, "Are you going to help?"

Ron caved, "Fine. But I'm telling her that I did this under protest."

Hermione wouldn't believe that either. Ron made the contents of the fountain disappear while Harry shut off the spell that constantly filled it with water. As Ron's dome shaped containment charm encompassed the entire fountain, Harry conjured a blasting curse aimed at the boy statue. It exploded into many small pieces to his satisfaction and energized a chain reaction.

They shielded their eyes from the blinding flashes of light as the muted destructive force did its job. Ron's spell dissipated and the dust settled. With a compartmentalizing charm Harry shifted the rubble away from where the boy statue stood. On the floor was a cleanly cut circumscribed opening spanning about two feet across.

Pocketing their wands they walked over and knelt beside the deep hole, peering into its darkness. Harry knew the wand was within; he could feel its power drawing him, beckoning.

He didn't have to reach in. The wand came to his hand just as he was about to, the magic it breathed through him undeniably strong and unwavering. It was demanding him to use it, to acknowledge ownership of it.

It was difficult to suppress curiosity. He walked back to where he stood earlier with Ron right behind him and waved the wand at the damage that was before them. Then they marvelled at the ease with which the fountain reappeared with all the intricate details he didn't even remember existed.

"Whoa!"

Ron's reaction just about summed it up. Then he noticed the one modification Harry made to the original design.

"I never liked that statue of the boy wizard either. Maybe no one will notice he looks different," he commented.

"One can hope."

"What's next?"

Harry answered without hesitation, "I'm taking it to Malvado."

His friend sighed audibly but didn't say anything. Playing straight in a hostage situation went against every rule in the book. He never liked that rule and this was Hermione. He was not taking any chances.

XXXXXXXXXX

Malvado leaned in, his face not an inch away from hers. Hermione prepared herself for the mind games.

"My...such intense memories...," he whispered as he brushed the back of his hand down her cheek,"...so this is how he feels about you."

Even though Malvado looked like Warren the entire thing creeped her out. She couldn't let him see that.

"Softened you up already, has he?"

"On the contrary...he has given me valuable insider information."

His eyes descended upon the golden locket that hung around her neck. He took it in his hand, cradled it for a moment before abruptly pulling it off her, snapping the fragile chain.

He turned it over, read the inscription and scoffed at the writing, then opened it to Hugo's and Rosie's pictures.

"Lovely children."

"Thank you."

"Ingenius magic, your locators."

Malvado probed for the way to unlock them. She blocked his mental intrusions easily.

Hermione told him, "We can do this forever. I don't mess with my children's safety."

Realizing the futility, Malvado abandoned his attempt, looked her in the eye, and declared, "Die knowing they will live long miserable lives."

"I'm not dead yet."

"You'd be dead already if not for my need for a damsel in distress."

Malvado smirked. He was in control and rubbing it in.

He continued, "If you play your part well I might spare them, maybe even show some mercy?"

"Right. Let me get in character straight away."

She spat at him. He wiped his face off with his sleeve and laughed at her. Beneath the calm facade she was beyond furious, mostly at herself for not having the foresight to avoid the predicament she was in and at Warren for giving her hope that through their mental connection she could indeed help Harry and Hugo out.

Warren's theory was a let down. Hermione had not been able to get a hold of Warren since he accepted the stone and performing magic through him was likely a one time thing. Malvado would not be so unaware the next time she tried that and even if she could do it again, it would cost her. She would have to make it count.

A phone rang. Warren's. Malvado reached into his pocket and answered, silencing her with a spell as he did.

"Potter," he said, switching to the original Malvado voice.

Hermione had to warn Harry about Warren. She linked up in time to hear Harry's response.

"I have the wand."

Ministry and Auror protocol in hostage for ransom situations was clear; no giving into demands and no negotiating, without exception. In his years as an Auror Harry never lost a hostage even though he never adhered to this protocol. It was safe to say he wasn't going to start following the hostage rule now. Her only hope was that someone rational talked him out of it.

Malvado replied, "I'm impressed. That took you no time at all."

"How is she?"

"Alive, though in the interest of full disclosure I have to tell you," he looked at her, taunting her to react, "I lost my temper and poisoned her with Asphyxiatus. Good news is you'll get her back with plenty of time to create a still non-existent antidote and save her. Sorry. No hard feelings, I hope."

There was a momentary silence. Hermione could feel Harry's frustration.

Finally, Harry replied, "I understand. You're an asshole. You can't help it."

Malvado was amused, "Warren was right. You'd do anything for her."

"How much time does she have?"

"Roughly, forty-five hours give or take a few minutes," Malvado lied.

It was confirmation that Malvado had no intention of letting her go.

"I want to talk to her," Harry demanded.

"I'm afraid she's speechless at the moment."

"I know how to get rid of the Hallows," Harry threatened, "I'm going to do just that unless I'm convinced she's still alive."

"You're bluffing," a worried Malvado countered.

"Try me."

Malvado looked to her in search for an answer. When he couldn't read her, he drew from Warren's memories and concluded that Harry never bluffed. He lifted the silencing spell and signalled her to talk.

She refused. If Harry did figure out a way to get rid of the Hallows he should do just that. Her disobedience pissed Malvado off and he cursed her with the intensely painful hex he subjected Warren to.

It was the Cruciatus. Hermione bottled up her reaction. With defiance she refused to give in.

Aware that she was listening in, he spoke in his head, Eventually you'll break or I'll find another way to prove that you're alive, one that will make him feel bad for insisting that he speak with you.

Malvado was visualizing body parts. Hermione couldn't get past the thought of the guilt Harry would feel. She nodded and Malvado withdrew the Cruciatus.

"I'm here," she managed to say.

"How are you holding up?"

"Just fine. You?"

"Never better. I found the wand and the cloak."

"That was expected."

"You don't sound excited."

"I'd be more pleased if you disposed of them. Harry, be logical. You heard what Warren said. There's ..." her voiced trailed off as Malvado shot her another curse for giving his secret away. Too bad it wasn't subtle enough and Malvado noticed. Hopefully Harry picked it up. When the pain waned she continued, "There's nothing to be gained here."

Harry carried on with the conversation as if nothing was amiss. He got the warning.

"I have to do this. You always said I have this savior complex. I'm just proving you right."

Give it to Harry to make something so crazy actually make sense to her. Given that it was possibly their last conversation, she conceded that there was absolutely nothing she could say to prevent him from doing what he was about to do.

"I can't argue with that."

"Hang in there."

Surprisingly, even in her dire predicament, she found his words reassuring. Harry always found a way.

She cautioned him, "Be careful."

Malvado interrupted, "Touching. I think that's good enough."

Harry asked to the point, "Where and when?"

"Half an hour at Mount Ingkanto's peak. Come alone with the Elder wand, the real one."

"I'm not staying if I don't see her."

"She'll be there."

He dropped the Muggle phone and stepped on it, crushing it, cutting off the only means of communication Harry had with him.

"Well, at least a version of you will be," he muttered to her after.

Malvado held up her locket, his eyes narrowing as he decided what to do. He had no intention of letting her anywhere near him at their rendezvous.

"You're a coward."

"Shut your mouth."

“He's a better wizard than you will ever be. He will end you with or without the Elder wand.”

And that did it. Malvado snapped. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her closer to him, the tip of his wand stabbing hard against her chest. His eyes grew dark grey with the burning intent to kill. He concluded that she was no longer needed.

Then something happened. Past Malvado's cold glare she saw the Warren she knew.

He replied in Warren's voice, “I am invincible. No one can end me, not even your precious Harry Potter.”

After the declaration Warren was gone again. Malvado let her go and stepped back, annoyed at himself for not killing her right then and there. Hermione couldn't decide what to make of it but if it was a ploy to give her hope that Warren was still somewhere inside him then it was working.

The rest of his nefarious scheme came to her and instincts took over.

"Leave him out of this! He's just a boy!"

The shackles around her wrists and ankles tightened as Malvado left her cell. The metal door slid shut and he exited past the Dementor guards, taking her locket with him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry relaxed his balled up fist and allowed calmness and clarity to seep in. Ron was watching him throughout the conversation with Malvado and knew something was wrong.

Harry told him, "Warren took the stone and he lost. Malvado has his body."

"I don't care about the arse. What about Hermione?"

"Asphyxiatus," Harry replied grimly, "He said forty-five hours, likely much less than that."

Ron got angrier, "Git's going to get what he deserves. Just gave us the excuse not to play this straight."

Temper aside Ron was right. As Hermione pointed out, it would make more sense to have Hugo give the wand and the rest of Hallows back to Death now than take it to Malvado. If only he could convince himself to be logical.

Sensing his dilemma, Ron reasoned with him, "Malvado has no intention of letting her go. She could already be dead."

"If I show up without the real wand we will never see her again."

"You're mad! You're not thinking straight! You're too close to this!"

"We're all too close to this but I get to make this decision," Harry said firmly.

And he wasn't going to let anyone else make the decision for him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo and Rosie watched from the safety of the observation room as the three women tried every spell in the book to pry the Snitch open. Neither force nor persuasion worked. The indestructible nature of the Resurrection Stone extended to the Snitch that encased it and they had just about given up.

“We need to find the person this Snitch will open for,” Unspeakable Boots concluded, “It's the only way.”

Nobody disagreed.

“It's not Harry and it's not Jean,” the IMP officer, Maria, eliminated possibilities.

“Who else would the POTH trust?” Aunt Jessie asked out loud.

“One of them,” Unspeakable Boots answered.

“The Keeper,” Maria suggested, “Maybe if we tell them we intend to return the Hallows to Death they'll unseal it.”

Aunt Jessie got on the phone, Hugo guessed to speak with the POTH. He just noticed that Rosie was no longer with him and had wandered into the test room.

"How old is it?" she asked Unspeakable Boots.

"Three, maybe four years old."

"Do we know where it came from?"

"It's mass produced. It's near impossible to trace where this particular one was sold," the Unspeakable explained.

Aunt Jessie came off the phone and said to them, “I passed the message along. Got the usual I'm not the Keeper crap.”

Hugo was losing hope. They were running out of time.

He watched as Rosie took the Snitch and rolled it in her hand. A vivid old memory of her in a Quidditch game suddenly came to him that, for a moment, he thought the Snitch would open for her. It didn't but it did give him an idea of who the Snitch could belong to. It was a long shot but it was the only one they had.

Hugo's watch vibrated. Mum's locket. Maybe she escaped. Maybe she could tell him where she was.

His hopes were quickly dashed when Malvado appeared on it.

"You don't have much time so listen carefully," Malvado said to him with a sense of urgency, "Your mentor is dead. I have your Mum and your father thinks he can save her. But you and I know that's impossible.

"You are the only one who can stop me. Your mother and father will die if you don't act now. The question is are you man enough to accept your fate or would you rather live with the thought that you could have saved their lives and chose not to?"

Hugo's heart was pounding hard against his chest. If he didn't do this Malvado was going to kill them. He wouldn't be able to live with that.

"How do I find you?" Hugo heard himself reply.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Ron stomped into the DOM office with a scowl on his face. He was instantly bombarded with questions the second they noticed him.

"Did you find the wand?"

"Where is it?"

Where's Harry?"

He held both hands up.

"Yes, Harry has it and he's gone to meet Malvado..." he interrupted Jessie's follow-up question to answer it, "And yes, I tried to talk him out of it but he insisted on following Malvado's instructions to a T."

"He's gone loco," Maria concluded.

Ron corrected, "He's always been loco. Here's what he wants and I don't think it's unreasonable. Padma, Jessie, forget the Snitch. Hopefully the POTH will come through but if they don't then it'll have to wait.

"We need an antidote for Asphyxiatus and we need it yesterday. Get a hold of St.Mungo's, the Potions Research Institute, or any scientist legitimate or otherwise who's done any recent work on it. Tell them Harry will consider their collaboration a personal favour if you have to."

He shook off the question Jessie was about to ask but Rosie and Hugo were smart enough to decipher what was unsaid.

Rosie offered, "I'll help."

Jessie, Padma and Rosie huddled around the DOM computers as he turned to the IMP.

"Maria, you have a way into the Malvado camp."

"Yes."

"I need you to get a hold of your IMP contacts. I'll get the POTH and as many Aurors as I can. Harry doesn't want back-up but he's getting it anyway."

"Got it," Maria acknowledged and began working on her list.

"What about me?" Hugo asked, eager for something to do.

"You're staying here. We need you to be ready to return the Hallows to Death once your father is done with the wand," Ron said firmly, "And you're to use the emergency Portkey immediately at the first hint of trouble."

There were no arguments from Hugo. As odd as that was Ron was going to take it as a good sign. He made his way to the Auror offices and was on to his next task.

"Dovalov," he rang up the Russian, "Gather up as many able bodies as you can and meet us outside the Malvado camp in twenty minutes. Sending you the coordinates now."

He had to prioritize. He called George Bones and pulled him from the McMillan surveillance. A few other phone calls after Ron armed himself with some spare wands and a few choice magical contraptions he found handy in battle. He then opened the bottom drawer of his desk, grabbed a few chocolate bars and shoved them into his cloak pocket.

Ron ripped one open and munched on it vigorously. Now he was ready.

XXXXXXXXXX

James finally convinced his Mum to let him go alone. He Flooed into the Ministry Atrium and stepped out of the fireplace into a run, eager to find Hugo. As he turned the corner towards the elevators he crashed into something, hard.

Someone stifled a groan. Right in front of him a pair of runners caught his eye before they disappeared. Without thinking James lunged forward and tackled whoever it was he bumped into.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was maddening to feel so utterly helpless. Almost half an hour had past since Harry spoke with Malvado. Every time Hermione tugged at the chains the restraints tightened, Malvado was too far to establish any mental connection with Warren and she was running out of time. And as much as she trusted Ron and Harry to keep Hugo from getting into trouble, she was certain Malvado could easily manipulate Hugo into doing what he wanted the boy to do.

She was worried about Hugo; very worried.

Warren definitely did not expect this, that Malvado would decide not to let her be around him during the confrontation. She had to find a way to get to the rendezvous.

A door opened and a Muggle walked in with two wizard guards. She heard one speak before anxious footsteps approached. When those stopped something metal slid across the concrete floor and into her cell. The same anxious steps walked away from her and out.

She gazed upon the tray of food that was just delivered.

Rib steak and asparagus - Warren's choice of her last meal. One look at all the wrong things about it and she was riled up.

One of the guards from beyond the metal bars released her from the magical restraints but neither made a move to leave.

"This is cold, the steak is overcooked, the greens are rotten," she complained bitterly to the guard, rubbing her wrists as she did.

"Not my problem," the more senior wizard replied.

"I'm going to need a fork and a knife," she demanded.

"Not happening," the guard retorted.

"How am I supposed to eat this?"

"And I'm told you're smart. You've been around a while. By now you should know how to eat with your hands."

That drew laughter from the other guard.

"An aspiring comedian. Great. This is my last meal. It's my right that you get this right. Section 2 Article 26 of the Third Geneva Convention says so. I want my steak medium rare. I want my meal hot. I want my salad fresh, vinaigrette on the side. And I demand proper silverware."

That got the guard rolling his eyeballs as he and the other wizard walked away, muttering something to each other about having the Dementors come in sooner to plant her a kiss.

"I'm filing an official complaint! Get me your in charge! Get me Malvado! Oh, you're leaving? Getting the man in charge, are you? Good, you're listening to me! You're a good listener! I'll be sure to put in a good word for you!"

That was too easy.

Alright Warren. I hope this works.

Hermione sorted through the asparagus. With her touch two of them lengthened and transformed into wands.

Dementors instantly sensed magic and she felt them moving in. Someone tripped the alarm. Sirens wailed. More of Malvado's armed men would arrive soon.

She cast a shield around her and pointed both wands above.

Bombarda!

That drilled an opening through the ceiling. She boosted herself up through ten feet of dirt and cast a series of hexes that caused the prison dungeon to cave in.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Harry landed on Mount Ingkanto's peak at the exact minute Malvado instructed them to meet. He put his broom down and stood on the edge of the hot crater, scanning the perimeter for any sign of Malvado or Hermione. He picked up a couple of strong magical signatures approaching him on his right.

Past the smoky vapors emanating from the mouth of the volcano he saw Hermione. Malvado was nowhere in sight.

XXXXXXXXXX

Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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70. Flight of the Phoenix

A/N. This is shorter than usual. One of you hoped that I would post before the fall and I felt compelled to grant the requestJ

Happy Easter everyone.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 70 – Flight of the Phoenix

James grabbed the invisibility cloak and pulled it off. It was Hugo he had crashed into and had pinned down.

"Get off me!" Hugo squirmed under his weight.

He was bigger than his kid brother and more fit. There was no way the latter could overpower him.

"Get off me! I have to go! They'll die if I don't!"

James tried to talk some sense into him, "You've gone mad! If you think you can do what they can't...!

"I don't! But if something happens to them I would never be able to live with myself if I don't try!"

He was somewhat stunned; he had never heard anything so desperate in his entire life. James had to back off to give him space.

His brother picked himself up, gathered the invisibility cloak and shoved it into a small pouch strapped closely against his chest. As Hugo did that James saw other things in it; an old book and some sort of Muggle medic drug.

"What are you going to do?" he asked with concern.

"I don't know yet."

From what James just saw that wasn’t entirely true. Hugo was up to something.

"You can't go by yourself."

"I have no choice."

"Of course you do."

"Malvado said to come alone."

"He's going to kill you."

"Do you think so?" Hugo was being sarcastic as he walked past James and headed straight for the Atrium fireplaces.

James had to do something. He couldn't just let Hugo walk to his death.

“Wait!” James called out.

Hugo turned to face him.

“Petrificus totalus!”

XXXXXXXXXX

The collapse of the dungeon slowed her human pursuers down but the Dementors kept coming nonetheless, draining her as they got close.

Hermione conjured her Patronus. It wrestled with one but got overrun by the others. There were too many and she knew it would be near impossible to fight them all off.

They were gaining on her. Surrounded by earth she accelerated and continued to tunnel through, her momentum catapulting her through the surface. She crawled away, but too slowly to elude them. She could only think of doing one thing. It wouldn’t work but she had to try.

Hermione turned on her back to face them and tried to raise her wands but her arms stayed limp on her side. Not one part of her body obeyed her ask to keep moving away. A Dementor was floating right above her, literally drawing life out of her.

Dark clouds approached her from every angle, engulfing her within seconds. Too tired …too cold…too hopeless…

The screaming started; her own. Decades old emotions were drudged up…the intense loss…the gut wrenching sorrow…the deep regret…

She was at a mass funeral. Rows upon rows of coffins, all belonging to people she knew, each one dying right before her very eyes from the most painful death imaginable, over and over again. Her Mum...Rosie...Hugo...Harry...her family. And all of it her fault because she couldn't prevent it from happening.

Hermione was screaming yet she couldn't breathe...she couldn’t breathe…

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments earlier, Al snapped out of Gates’ Superius spell just as the Canadian said he would. He looked at the group of six blood-thirsty wizards and witches with the fifty or so ruthless followers surrounding them. They were poised to fight.

Thankfully not against him.

While he was in no position to judge and be picky, Gates told him the unsavoury lot was the best attack crew to bring into a suicide mission against Malvado. Each entity had come up against Malvado in the past and lost. They all had motive to get rid of the Dark wizard, all of them for personal gain. There was one catch; their willingness to fight was highly dependent on being summoned by the son of Death’s Mistress. They believed in the prophecy and would only challenge Malvado if he, well Hugo, led them into battle.

Gates admitted that he took advantage of the Polyjuice incident because he needed to spur Malvado's enemies into action. Al didn't buy the hogwash and suspected that the local boys' idea to Polyjuice him was one of Gates’ suggestive spells. Gates needed Hugo, or someone who could pass as his brother. And Gates obviously preferred someone other than Hugo to do this.

Free from Gates' influence, he supposed he could leave. He could find a way to contact his Dad. But Aunt Hermione was a prisoner in the camp and he was in a position to help her. It was a no brainer. Much like after he regained control at Pag-asa, something within him was telling him to stay, play the part and see this through.

And besides, revealing himself to this barbaric crowd was a sure invitation to get killed.

One of the thugs came up to him and said impatiently, “We're ready. When do we attack?”

Al swallowed the lump in his throat. It was much easier to be brave under the Superius curse.

"Get into position."

They moved stealthily under the cover of darkness and got to the spot Gates told them to be at. Across their hiding place in the middle of an open field was the entrance to the underground dungeon where Aunt Hermione was being held. Wizards and Muggles stood guard outside and several Dementors hovered about.

Their instructions were to wait for a signal. He wasn’t told exactly what that signal was other than it would be obvious and hard to miss.

Five minutes went by, then ten. The eerie silence made him anxious and the gravity of the moment hit him hard. He felt like throwing up.

There was movement. Someone was at the entrance. He was allowed in with a food tray. Moments later he came out followed shortly by the guards who went in with him. Not a minute after, the Dementors become restless. Flashing lights came on, alarms went off, stirring humans and non-humans into a frenzy. He motioned the men to hold steady.

Then the ground shook.

They all felt it and looked at each other, puzzled. Earthquake?

It shook again. This time the earth kept moving and with it came a loud, escalating rumbling sound. Close to the dungeon entrance the ground swelled and exploded outward.

If that wasn’t the signal nothing else would be.

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments earlier, Ron followed the IMP Maria through dark underground tunnels, bringing them closer into the heart of Malvado's camp. Several others were behind them, some with dimly lit wands, moving single file through the narrow pathway as quietly as they could. By his estimation they were grossly outnumbered and he wanted to avoid running into Malvado's men for as long as they could.

Harry, being a man of few words, omitted telling him where the meeting would take place. However they made a decision to head for Malvado's prison dungeon, where Hermione would be held captive if she were still alive. Since leaving London he had been fighting off the dreadful thought that they were too late.

Ron wondered where Harry was right now. Harry knew of the tunnel; Maria told him about it. However, there was no indication that someone had been through here recently. Ron's gut told him that Harry, if he were already in Malvado's camp, chose a different route. That or the rendezvous was nowhere near where they were headed.

Up ahead Ron could see that the tunnel was coming to an end. There was light pouring in through a thick curtain of thick leafy plants hanging from above. Maria stopped at the opening and held one hand up to them to do the same. They waited.

Ron joined Maria at the entrance and saw what they were faced with. The tunnel opening was on the side of a hill overlooking an open field, at the centre of which was a heavily guarded area. Ron could barely make out the opening on the ground but it was there.

He assessed the enemy. Aside from the armed wizard and Muggle guards, several Dementors hovered about. He had not fought a Dementor since he was a teenager and something about them always brought out intense irrational fear that he felt in childhood.

"How's your Patronus?" Maria asked.

"Rusty, haven't had the need to conjure a protective one since Auror training," he replied, "Yours?"

"The dark half of me has never let me execute one," she admitted, then figured about the rest of their team, "We might not have enough."

Dovalov weighed in, "We plan smart and make do."

They had a few Aurors, former Aurors, IMPs and former IMPs of various abilities, then there were Seamus and Neville. After a head count of Patronus capable witches and wizards they judged they had enough but just barely. And it was possible that there were other Dementors in the area. There were also Malvado's armed men to contend with.

The odds were against them. Both Dovalov and Maria were thinking the same thing but they all knew there was no backing out.

“Something’s going on,” Maria announced, her sights trained at the dungeon entrance.

“Is that a food tray?”

Ron wanted confirmation before getting his hopes up. Food tray meant live prisoner.

Maria’s mood perked up, “Yes, steak and asparagus.”

“You can tell from here?” Ron was impressed.

“They’ve done this before,” she was referring to Hermione and Gates, “It’s not the first time one of them has been in this kind of trouble. Get ready.”

Just as the guards alighted from the dungeon entrance the Dementors went crazy. The sirens went off.

Then Ron felt a tremor. He looked in the direction of the peak of the mountain and thought he saw something fiery shoot out of it. He must have imagined it.

It happened again, this time the origin was, without a doubt, closer. A loud reverberating echo was approaching. In the open field close to the dungeon entrance, the surface began to mound up with the escalating rumble, culminating in an explosive burst of dark, heavy earth.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry recognized the golden locket dangling from a thin chain around the woman's neck and the restraints on her wrists and ankles were hard to miss. The magical scanner confirmed Hermione's signature but with a Biomorph involved (and Merlin only knew what else) that meant nothing. Harry needed to get closer and to talk to her to verify it was indeed her.

He expected games and treachery and it was exactly what he was getting. He took the Elder wand out, tightened his grip on it and kept it at the ready, his senses heightened to react to just about anything.

Harry called out, "This isn't complicated. You get the wand, I get Hermione, then we try to kill each other. Why are you afraid of me anyway? Aren't you supposed to be invincible?"

Malvado laughed, his voice echoing from several places around the crater, "I am not a fool, Potter. You have a reputation for doing the impossible. Although I like my followers to think otherwise, appearances, aside I respect your abilities way too much. I will not give you the opportunity to add my defeat to your long list of accomplishments."

The sudden modesty was clearly a smoke screen.

“Never figured you for a kiss ass.”

“Put the wand down.”

“Come and get it.”

A vibrating tremor coupled with a loud rumbling sound percolated from somewhere beneath them. He stepped back against the rocky mountain wall just as a sprinkling of red, hot rocks, gas and ash sprung up from the opening below.

One of the stones the size of a fist narrowly missed him. Then the sound of a spell being conjured caught his ear. He looked up expecting a curse, ready to deflect.

But nothing came. Instead, across the crater, the rocky ledge Hermione was on shattered and collapsed from under her feet. She was freefalling into the volcano.

Without hesitation, Harry leapt into the opening after her, summoning his broom as he did. He caught the stick with his left and mounted it just as another cone of smoldering projectiles shot up. He maneuvered around the obstacle and headed full speed towards her.

He was right. In the surrounding darkness he could clearly see the reddish reflection coming off the lake of molten rock at the bottom of the crater. He fought off the noxious smell of gas seeping from between the crevices in the walls surrounding them. He got to Hermione about twenty feet above it and reached out to grab her outstretched arm.

"Hang on!" he yelled, pulling her up with his left hand.

He tugged, she looked up. Harry swore to himself.

Before Harry could shake him off Malvado gripped his arm with brute force. Several sharp metal objects extended from Malvado’s fingers and pierced through him, causing an instantaneous bone crushing pain that almost made him pass out. The restraints disappeared and in its place, a weapon.

Harry didn't wait for Malvado's complete transformation. He fired.

His foe countered and muffled his attack. They skirmished in close quarters, him pounding Malvado curse after curse to get his opponent to fall even at the expense of his arm, and Malvado, trying his best to contain his curses to hang on.

Then Harry heard it. A rumble. Malvado heard it too and knew it was coming. They pointed their wands are each other and fired, the same instant a plume of molten lava bubbled up from the surface like a geyser.

Harry braced himself. It was headed straight at them.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hugo appeared at the mouth of the volcano, dropped the portkey at his feet as he watched his father mount a broom midair and dive into the crater at break neck speed. Someone else had fallen in and it looked like his father was trying to save them.

He peered in from the edge to see who it was but had to step back as the volcano spit out gas and something hot and hard. A rock. He dismissed the burn on his arm to quickly orient himself. His Mum was not here. Malvado was not here. Nobody else was here.

But there was definite wand fire from deep within the volcano. He looked down into the hole again, more cautiously this time. It was too dark and his father was too far in it. More curses were fired. Hugo felt an urgent need to be there, to help his father out, to do something other than wait for the outcome.

He didn’t have a broom but he didn’t need one. What he needed was a boost. His pulse was racing but not fast enough. It seemed like only fear for his own life could get him that excited. Hugo took the medic pen out of the pouch secured around his neck, found a prominent vein on his arm as Isa suggested and stabbed himself with the drug.

It hit him unexpectedly. Adrenaline gushed through his heart and his arteries. He clutched his chest as it tightened so much he was choking. The pen fell from his hand and rolled into the pit as the drug sent every part of him into a chaotic reaction. His head pounded, his ears rang, his entire body shook and his heart felt like it would spontaneously burst into flames.

Hugo could no longer take the powerful rush. He jumped into the volcano, arms stretched out. He had done this before, it had to happen again.

And it did. Very quickly he changed and unlike before he felt every part of his transformation. Human to avian, normal to freak, everything on him somehow seamlessly molding into some part of what he transformed into. He was flying.

Wings with red and golden feathers flapped at his sides. He scanned for his Mum but couldn’t find her. Then his hearing picked up the sound of two powerful curses clashing against each other. He trained his sights at the source and his hyperacute vision tracked his father’s figure as the blast tossed the older Potter off the broom.

One arm all mangled and bloody, his father had lost consciousness. A scream…a wall of lava swallowed Malvado up and it was about to do the same to his father.

Hugo swooped down and grabbed his father by the collar with his powerful talons. He swerved and took them both to safety, out of the mouth of the volcano. Far from danger and his strength waning somewhat, he had to find a good place to land. A few feet down the slope of the mountain there was a flat surface. It would do.

He set his father down gently and knelt beside him. Already Hugo was back in his human form, which, like his phoenix transformation, he had no way of controlling. He looked at his father, pale from the blood loss, left arm half gone, not breathing.

Panic came to him.

“No, you can’t die now,” he heard himself say.

He put one hand on top of the other at the center of his father’s chest and began pushing hard against it. This was how the Muggle doctors did it, how their medics taught him. This was the only way he knew how to get his father’s heart to work again.

One…two…three…four…

Don’t die…please don’t die…

…five…six…seven…eight…

I don’t hate you…I promise, I don’t hate you…

…nine…ten… eleven

I just didn’t want you to hate me…

…twelve…thirteen…

I just wanted to be your normal son…but I could never be that…you know…normal…

…fourteen…fifteen…sixteen…

And now I know it’s okay…I’m fine with it because you don’t care about that…you don’t care that I’m different…and I know you want me to be your son…I want you to be my Dad…

…seventeen…eighteen…

Please don’t die…don’t die…not now…

Hugo stopped counting. He pushed hard again and again and again and again. It wasn’t working. His heart wasn’t beating. He wasn’t moving.

After some time, when he couldn’t anymore, Hugo stopped. He sobbed as he remembered how great he felt the one time he let his father hug him.

I’m so sorry…

Hugo wrapped his arms around his father’s neck and cried some more.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione couldn’t breathe for the longest time, then she could.

Ocean air filled her lungs and she felt sand under her feet. She was back in Perth at her favorite spot at the beach where her Mum and Dad used to live.

Someone took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. It was Harry, a much younger version of him, the one who loved her before Death made him forget. She was younger too.

Harry looked into her eyes and said to her, “Spend the rest of your life with me.”

He was a picture of pure happiness, peaceful contentment bursting from within him. She felt the same.

Hermione smiled and replied, “I’d have it no other way.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Malvado was fuming. He hated being burned.

He climbed out of the crater and allowed his damaged body to recover, surveying the vicinity as he did.

A few feet away he saw them. Potter was dead and Granger’s son was next.

XXXXXXXXXX

71. The Path To Destiny

A/N. Boo! Surprise!

It has been so long, I know. Believe it or not I have been working on this on and off as evidenced by the 200 or so versions of this chapter on my computer :). Sadly, that number is not an exaggeration. It was a tough one to get right. And I still don't know if I did.

Thank you to those who never gave up. Your constant reminder and encouragement keep me writing.

Brightside DC- happy birthday - hope I’m not too-too late.

Mrs. Roy - we will finish - promise

Here you go. Lots to read - don't blink, you might miss something

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 71 – The Path To Destiny

"That's settled then. You're stuck with me," Harry replied, grinning.

Hermione laughed. He gazed deeply into her eyes. A younger version of her looked back at him with complete happiness and peace. He would give anything to have her feel like this forever.

He leaned in and kissed her gently, drawing her body against his. Her ardous response was unhurried but a reflection of the same intense longing he had. It emptied his thoughts and filled it with a heady sensation.

After some time he felt her reluctantly move away. He opened his eyes. A bright cone of white light encased Hermione in some sort of a force field. Hermione reached out the same time he did and their palms touched lightly across a thin barrier.

It was a portal, and it was taking her back to reality. She was torn between staying and going.

"Harry, I have to let it take me," she said apologetically.

"It's okay," Harry tried to reassure her, "I'll be on the next one, I promise. You're stuck with me, remember?"

That earned Harry a faint smile, the last thing he saw of Hermione before she disappeared.

XXXXXXXXXX

A heartbeat.

Hugo pulled back. He didn't know how long he had been crying but there was no mistake. His father was still alive. Hugo not only heard a heartbeat, he felt it thump against his father's chest.

A steady slow burn coursed through his entire body. He quickly examined his hands. They were infernal hot and as he looked at them in bewilderment, in the background, he noticed changes to his father's mangled arm; the bone fragments reorganized and the skin edges crept over the wound.

He blinked, touched it to confirm. It had without a doubt healed on its own. Barely able to process the sight, a warning came to him in his thoughts from out of the blue.

Watch out!

Someone was behind him!

Survival instincts nudged Hugo into action. He pulled his wand out of his back pants pocket and swung around. A strong, firm hand grabbed his wrist before he could discharge his weapon, yanking him up forcibly from his crouched position. He was unable to hang onto the wand and it fell by the wayside.

Fighting through blinding pain in his limb as he was dragged up to his feet, Hugo’s free hand searched the ground desperately for something to hang onto or anything he could use to defend himself.

Small rocks, dirt, dried leaves…there had to be something! Out of the corner of his eye, in his father's better hand, was a distinct, ancient looking wand! The Deathstick! He reached out, stretching as far as he could but it was just beyond his finger tips!

“Arghh!”

He screamed as he was jerked farther away from the only thing that could save his life. Then another hand came up around his throat, crushing it, making it impossible for him to breathe. His body fought and struggled, his arms and legs flailing against his attacker.

“Look at me. I want to see you die.”

It was a command. The voice was unmistakably Warren’s. Cold grey eyes filled with amusement stared back at him. Warren’s eyes, Warren’s body, but Hugo knew it was Malvado.

The squeezing around his throat tightened some more as Malvado sneered, his wand was now in the wizard’s other hand.

He had to do something!

In near desperation he held on to Malvado's wrist to support himself and tried to pry the fingers off his neck to ease the choking sensation but there was no budging out of the predicament he was in.

“Stop squirming,” Malvado advised, “Death will come easier.”

It would be quicker if Malvado cursed him but it was clear that was not the death the Dark wizard had in mind. He couldn't breathe, his head felt like it would explode and, even though he wanted to fight, his strength was slipping away. His arms felt like lead and he couldn’t even lift them to strike back.

“That’s it,” the voice encouraged, sounding more distant now than it did earlier, “Let it go.”

He could not give up…not now…

For a split second the emotional and physical chaos of his fight for survival silenced and a sweet thrumming serenaded him from somewhere behind. He reached out and summoned it. Willing and eager, it came. He clasped the piece of old wood tightly.

A powerful hum surged from his fingers to his chest as he claimed the Elder wand and wielded its magic. He barely noticed the curse that came from its tip until Malvado let him go.

Hugo gasped for much needed air as he fell to the ground. The force of the Stunner threw Malvado some distance away, giving Hugo some time to recover. That reprieve wasn’t going to last long.

He was on his feet as quickly as Malvado was.

"Protego!"

That was just in time to repel an incoming spell. The hex deflected into a nearby boulder, pulverizing it. Malvado followed him as he retreated, back pedaling, scanning his surroundings, searching for ideas, frantic for inspiration. Cliff, rocks, crater...all he could think of was drawing Malvado as far away from his father as he could.

"Give me the wand!" Malvado commanded with a menacing tone.

"What? This old thing?"

Bombarda.

He flicked the spell silently in the dark wizard's direction. Out of habit, Malvado didn’t bother dodging or defending against the hex and paid for it. It winged the dark wizard and blew off his right shoulder, taking his arm with it.

With shock, they both looked at the dismembered limb still clutching Hugo's wand on the ground and then at the strange sight of the missing piece from Warren’s body. It wasn't growing back, at least definitely not as quickly as Hugo had witnessed Malvado heal before. Odd…reassuringly odd…it was definitely the Elder wand.

Malvado was miffed at his delayed regeneration. He summoned Hugo's wand to his functional hand.

Crap…

Hugo put up his shield just as the barrage of curses came. He deflected the first three and dove behind a huge tree to avoid getting hit by the fourth. He heard a pop behind him and ducked out of the incoming beam from the just appeared Malvado, the curse missing his head by no more than an inch.

Crash!!!

It hit. He put his arms up to protect his head and face. Wood splinters flew in all directions and he yelped involuntarily as several broken projectiles stabbed him in his left shoulder and arm.

Hugo took a big breath in and in one motion magically pulled out the three larger stakes that had pierced him at once, noticing the wounds healing as soon as he did. He barely registered how that was a good thing. He got up and squared himself for Malvado's next salvo.

Pulse pounding against his chest, Hugo defended himself as Malvado relentlessly cursed. His parries were crisp and decisive, better than ones that he'd conjured against Warren in practice. Certainly it was because of the Elder Wand but also because Malvado's curses were more real than real. Unlike Warren during his training, the dark wizard wasn't holding back. Each spell he blocked reverberated though his core and the avulsion to injury was very motivating. Although he just saw his wounds heal he wasn't going to deliberately test if he could self heal again.

If Malvado was frustrated he showed no signs of it. His limb had regrown and he had regained functionality of his wand arm.

"No one is coming to help you," Malvado pissed all over his one remaining hope.

Hugo needed a plan, quick, preferably one that went beyond hoping for someone to rescue him.

"Where will you go? You can't run away from me forever," Malvado taunted while hexing him.

Hugo dodged and blocked the curses. Malvado was right. Running was not an option. Malvado would get him sooner or later and he wasn't about to leave his father alone with the dark wizard.

There was really no choice; he had to fight back.

No witch or wizard has defeated Malvado in over a hundred years.

None of them had the Elder wand.

Some crazy voice that sounded very much like Warren interjected. Common sense put things in perspective. He was taught to defend, not to fight. The Elder wand, like any weapon, was only as good as its wielder. He was not his father. He could see himself losing to Malvado, not only his life but also the Elder wand. If that happened Malvado would even be more difficult to stop. It was obvious what he had to do.

Without the Elder wand and the other Hallows someone else would at least have a fighting chance against Malvado. With grim determination, Hugo went on a rare offensive.

"Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!"

The Deathstick had a definite preference to being on the attack. Hugo had never used a wand so eager to cause pain and seemingly keen to please him. Caught unaware, the third Stunner hit Malvado and gave Hugo the precious seconds he needed. Quickly, Hugo reached into the pouch around his neck, grabbed his Mum's book.

Malvado went for the kill.

Hugo was all thumbs as he opened the tome. Like the last time it began flipping through the pages. He looked up as his peripheral vision caught something bright and fast approaching.

"Protego!"

Hugo rushed it and misfired. The green spell was almost upon him. Unless he came up with a more decisive defensive spell he was going to get hit.

The sound of flipping paper suddenly stopped. The book found the tale it was looking for. Not a split second later, a whirlwind picked him off an inch from the ground and spun him around. It sped up so fast that he couldn't conjure another protective counter. There was nothing Hugo could do anymore. He braced himself for impact.

It didn't come. The sight of the incoming killing curse blurred and was replaced by his very irate half brother.

XXXXXXXXXX

Harry stopped, stooped down and examined the footprint on the moss covered ground. He sighed away his growing frustration. Just as he suspected, he had been walking around in a circle for a while. After Hermione left, Harry patiently waited for another portal to come for him but it was taking forever and he could no longer sit and wait. He went off to find Rasputin, or someone who could direct him to the Healer. He figured the Rasputin could point him to the location of the nearest portal.

As he searched for the Mad Monk Harry thought about Hermione and the Asphyxiatus. Had Ron found her? Had Padma and Jessie made any headway into finding an antidote? Admittedly, the antidote was a long shot. It would be a near miracle to create one when no one had succeeded in decades.

But it was the less complicated of the two solutions he had come up with at the time. The other required the POTH's blessing to release the stone from the snitch and to reunite the Hallows. And there was one other thing about that particular option. Even if her POTH vows would allow it, it was hard to imagine Hermione choosing to become Mistress of Death again just so she could live.

Clearly the latter was less possible now that Harry had lost consciousness and, possibly, mastery of the wand. Hopefully the sticking charm he conjured worked, that Warren was wrong in his assumptions about the Elder wand's loyalty and that Malvado didn't get it. All in all it was a lot of hoping. Creating an elusive antidote was more likely.

There was that and there was Malvado. Harry was eager for another go at the prick. Seeing Hermione going through the portal alone reminded him of Rasputin's lecture on inter-realm connections. Who would have guessed that the ramblings of the immortal lunatic would gave him an idea about how to end Malvado once and for all. But first he had to get back, find a portal and get Malvado into one.

Hermione's life then Malvado's death. Where was his portal?

Helplessness gnawed at him. He hated feeling absolutely powerless.

Harry looked up beyond the tree cover. Dusk was approaching fast. The passage of time only added to his frustration. He had to keep moving if only to distract himself.

He ambled towards the sound of running water on his left and found a stream past the tree line. Bodies of water don’t usually flow in circles. He decided to follow it to its origin, get to somewhere different from where he was now and possibly run into Rasputin. Accomplishing a goal, even one potentially pointless, was better than sitting around waiting.

Harry walked for a while, lost in random notions, losing track of time. He thought about what his family's future would look like. Ideally he’d want all of them happy, or not unhappy at the very least, but maybe that too was hoping for too much. He tried focusing on the positive but every now and then, he entertained the gloomy idea that he was not going to make it back in time to make a difference in the outcome. Maybe he was dead and he was not going back at all.

As darkness fell so did his mood but he kept on with his task. There was no moon or stars to illuminate his path. Thankfully, the stream bed appeared luminous and provided him a guided path. At one point the waters forked to the right. As he rounded the corner, he came upon a clearing. There was a pond there and something else. By the bank of the stream stood an ornate mirror, one he had seen before.

He approached it with hesitation. His reluctance to look into it surprised him. He never imagined he would need a moment to decide if he really wanted to see his reflection in the Mirror of Erised.

What are you afraid of? Harry asked himself.

He quickly figured it out. He knew what his deepest desire was but what if the Mirror showed him something else?

The reason for his hesitation was somewhat embarrassing. Time and experience had diminished his self trust and he longed for the simplicity of his eleven year old self.

Feeling braver, Harry stepped in front of the mirror and regarded his reflection. The images of important people in his life joined him. Hugo was there with his brothers and sisters. Both he and Lily were all smiles; Hermione radiant, happiness and contentment glinting from her eyes beside him; and Ginny in the background, pleased for him. Reassured that his heart and mind were on the same page, his apprehensions settled down. He closed his eyes for a moment, committing the imagery to memory, drawing from it the powerful positivity of its possibility.

“You did it again," someone interrupted.

That voice, so familiar, in a uniquely irritating way.

When he opened his eyes the Mirror of Erised was gone and in its place stood the Hag.

XXXXXXXXXX

Al appeared and dropped from out of thin air with a thud.

He shook the cobwebs off his head hoping the dizziness would go away. His brothers were here already.

"Get your hands off me!" Hugo threatened in a voice that sent goose bumps up Al's spine.

"Not until you apologize, you little bastard!" James replied in an equally menacing tone.

Al picked himself up and headed towards the pair. James had Hugo by the scruffs of his collar as they both glared at each other. Whatever this was about it was serious.

"Let go or I swear, I'll curse you!"

"Just try, bastard!" James dared. Al noticed Hugo's jaw tighten as James called him the name again, "I'm waiting for my apology!"

Hugo growled icily, "Didn't you know? Bastards never apologize. I'm not going to ask you a third time."

This was getting out of hand. Al stepped in between his brothers, pushing James away from Hugo before Hugo did what he said he would do.

"Enough!" Al scolded them both.

"He Petrified me!" James pointed an accusing finger at Hugo, quickly getting Al on his side.

"I had to!" Hugo yelled back, "You were going to stop me from leaving the Ministry!"

"You should have stayed!"

"If I did your father would be dead!"

James was stunned; that shut him up. Al was shocked too. He sized up his younger brother. Hugo was battered, bruised and exhausted; talking about this was bringing him very close to tears. An intense sinking feeling came over him. Al found his voice before he completely lost the nerve to ask.

"Is Dad okay?"

"He um..., he's hurt badly but he's alive," Hugo was obviously trying to choose his words to lessen their worry but couldn't lie.

"What happened?" James, now calmer, inquired.

"I'm not sure. Malvado did something to his arm, he lost consciousness," Hugo explained, then asked Al, worried, "Have you seen my Mum?"

"At Malvado's camp. She just blasted her way out of the underground prison," Al recounted, "I saw Uncle Ron and several others making their way towards her to help her out."

That didn't really alleviate Hugo's anxiety either and Al didn't have the heart to tell Hugo about the Dementors.

"You're in the camp too," Hugo stated; Al nodded.

James was as worried, "You okay?"

"I'm safe," Al dispelled their concern and said to Hugo, "I was Polyjuiced to look like you to unite Malvado's enemies, those who believe that you're the one."

"I'm sorry," Hugo apologized.

"Right now looking like you is actually a good thing. They’re a scary lot but they like you enough. They think I'm you so they're protecting me. And it wasn't your fault. Gates did this."

"I dragged you and Rosie to Gates. Technically it is my fault."

James interrupted, "I thought bastards never apologized."

Their older brother was no longer angry and his statement clearly wasn't another demand for an apology. James and Hugo looked each other. In the silence that followed Al kept his stance firmly between the two, unsure where it would go.

"I'm sorry I called you a bastard," James broke the impasse, acknowledging his mistake, "I don't think of you that way. I was just pissed."

James held out his hand, offering truce. Hugo shook it.

"Well, it is the truth. I should get used to it," Hugo shrugged; James blushed, embarrassed, and at a loss about how to respond. Al didn't know either. Hugo fixed the awkward situation with the apology James had been asking for, "I'm sorry I hexed you."

"Forget it," James accepted, then bluntly pointed out,"What happened to you? You look like shit."

"Malvado has a way of doing that to you," Hugo replied dryly.

"You're fighting him?"

"Not really. He's doing all the fighting."

There was something more to what Hugo just said that he was not telling them. Al figured Hugo brought them here because he needed a break. But surely Hugo knew they would return to the exact moment they left. Al hoped he had a plan.

He asked, "What are you going to do when you get back?"

"Much of the same," Hugo countered seriously and didn't dwell on it.

Then there it was again, that strange look that Al couldn't quite read. Fear? acceptance? Determination? Did Hugo come to accept the logical conclusion that he wouldn't survive his present Malvado encounter?

James' patented insensitivity came out, "So, why are we here again?"

"We can stay as long as you need to regroup," Al tried to save Hugo the difficulty of having to explain himself.

Hugo quickly corrected his erroneous assumption, "Actually, I brought us back here to try and even the playing field a bit."

"You're not hiding out to take a break from the cursing?"

The unfiltered surprised remark came out before Al could stop himself. The younger Potter shook his head. Something was seriously wrong with their kid brother.

"Good. You're taking up Death's offer then," James concluded.

Like Hugo the last time, Al believed that acquiring more gifts from Death was a definite bad idea. Now, knowing what Hugo was up against, Al could see the merits of accepting Death's offers and could understand the change of heart. Maybe Hugo had not given up hope after all.

“No.”

So, Hugo had not changed his mind either. Where was he going with this?

James asked again, with a hint of impatience, “Then why are we here?’

“To return the Hallows."

Al’s eyes widened with disbelief, "You found them?"

"The POTH showed um, him, where they were," Hugo answered uncomfortably.

Al helped Hugo sort out his uncertainty, "The sooner you call him 'Dad' the sooner you'll feel less awkward about it. He grimaces when he's called 'Father' and never call him 'Harry'. He'll go mental."

Hugo did not appreciate his attempt to help and steered them back to topic, "Let’s just do this."

"Why return them?" James sure was full of questions today, "I thought the Elder wand was the perfect weapon against Malvado."

"Yes, but he's still invincible. Returning the Hallows to Death will make Malvado mortal."

Al took Hugo's word for it. This was his show and Al trusted him implicitly. James, however, still had doubts and his questions were becoming annoying.

"Are you sure about this?"

"My Mum told your Dad," was Hugo's defensive response, his voice tense and a pitch higher, "Malvado's invincibility stone won't protect him once the Hallows are removed from our realm. That's why he wanted to kill the POTH, so the Hallows would never be destroyed.”

“Calm down,” James finally sensed Hugo’s sensitivity.

Hugo seemed to know what James was thinking, immediately shooting down the latter's idea, “We are leaving the Hallows here! We are not taking them back!"

“Hold on a sec,” James explained his reluctance with Hugo's plan, "How do we know that's not just Malvado propaganda? Maybe he knows the Elder wand and the Hallows can hurt him."

James had a good point; it was a possibility.

"There's really no time to argue!" Hugo grew impatient, "This was the plan!"

"Aunt Hermione's?"

"No! Your Dad's!"

"You mean our Dad's," Al couldn't resist anymore and corrected. Why was it so difficult for Hugo to call him that?

"It doesn't matter whose plan it was! The absence of the Hallows will make Malvado mortal! Others can wound him, maim him, kill him! But Death said we have to agree to do this!" Hugo said with both urgency and frustration, pleading with him and James, "All three of us!"

Hugo was determined and clearly on a mission. His younger brother turned to him for back up. As supportive as he was of Hugo, he wasn't sure he could fully support Hugo's plan.

Al put things in perspective, "He's going to kill you. The Hallows can save your life."

"I know that," Hugo replied evenly, "But this isn't just about me. I'm not good enough to unite the Hallows, much less keep them together. And this is our one chance. I barely got here in one piece."

Al put himself in Hugo's shoes. He wouldn't have the confidence either and, faced with the choice of momentarily staying alive versus giving someone else a chance to kill Malvado he would do the same. Al was annoyed that Hugo made sense and that there was no forcing him to do something that didn't feel right. it was a no-brainer after realizing that.

"I'm in," he backed Hugo up, looked over to James and pointed out, "He brought us here. He knows what he's doing. And besides, we're not the ones about to face Malvado again."

James withdrew his objection, maybe temporarily, as it seemed he was still not completely convinced this was the right thing to do. In the meantime Hugo had taken out an old worn out snitch from the pouch around his neck and served it up to Al.

"We'll need this open. The Resurrection Stone is in it. I don't think Death will take it as is."

For a moment Al didn't understand why Hugo was handing him the snitch. Then he remembered how his Dad's old professor hid the same stone in the snitch his father caught during his first Quidditch match, and how that snitch opened for the older Potter.

"You have gone mad!" Al looked at him like he had two heads, "I have nothing to do with the stone or the Hallows or the POTH. And I haven't played Quidditch since the last bad fall I had three years ago."

"The snitch is older. I think it will open for you," Hugo was quite serious.

He thinks?

James chimed in, "What makes you think this is one Al has caught before?"

"A hunch," Hugo was trying to evade answering the question.

Al supposed he could just try to open the snitch to get it over with but he was curious as hell why Hugo thought he could. And it was information Hugo would less likely share once the stone was out, if he was even right.

Al pressed on, "A hunch based on what?"

Hugo hesitated, looking at James then at him. Al felt his distrust, not that they had done anything to make him feel otherwise.

"We trust you. You can trust us," Al reassured him.

Pressured by time Hugo relented, "The Resurrection Stone belonged to the second Peverell and you're the second born Potter brother. I think someone meant for you to have it to look after at some point in the future, maybe when you came of age, just as the Peverell Cloak was meant for me to take care of. The cloak was charmed to stay with me."

"Your Mum?"

"Maybe, I don't know for sure," Hugo was honest; he was just guessing.

"And the Elder wand, was it meant for me to look after too?" James couldn't resist.

"I think so," Hugo replied almost dismissively, then asked Al, "Please, just give it a try."

Once again, Hugo held out the faded snitch in the palm of his hand and waited.

Taking the snitch from Hugo, Al held it in one hand first and then the other. As he rolled the snitch between his fingertips and thumb he felt it give. Two halves of the snitch moved in opposite directions and split open, revealing a dark, cracked object within the compartment. The Resurrection Stone.

The three of them breathed a sigh of relief. Hugo's hunch was right. Why his snitch and what it meant were questions that would have to wait. Al emptied the cracked pebble onto his other hand.

Upon skin contact an eerie image instantly flashed before his eyes. He was looking at a thirty year old version of him with eyes as sad and as lonely as how he suddenly felt. Surrounding him were strangers; Potters and Weasleys from the looks of it but strangers to Al nonetheless, flitting in and out of the picture in fast forward.

An old man's quivering voice spoke three whispered words through the mist, "When you're ready."

He shivered. The picture went away as quickly as it came.

Al looked at Hugo and asked, "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

Hugo didn't; Al dismissed it, "Must be my imagination."

Whatever it was it still creeped him out. He was now as eager as Hugo to get this over with. Al handed him the Stone and the three of them conjured the bridge across the river.

As they reached the other side, Death was waiting.

It mocked their return, "Back so soon?"

"Yes," Hugo answered readily, ignoring the insult, "We're here to give you back the Hallows."

"Really," It replied with a slight tone of disbelief, "And you are all in agreement?"

If Death had eyes Al swore It would be looking intently at James. His older brother was fidgeting but James answered in the affirmative just as he and Hugo did.

They waited, unsure of what was supposed to happen next. After what seemed like an eternity, It asked an unexpected question.

"All four?"

Four? Al glanced over to Hugo; Hugo was just as perplexed as he was. They turned to James. Whatever this was about James had a hand in it. He looked very guilty about something.

Hugo figured it out a split second sooner than Al did and was absolutely livid.

He accused their older brother, furious, "You took the wand!"

The wand of wands.

The taller James stood his ground as Hugo confronted him, defending himself, "I'd have to have been mental to pass it up! It's the most powerful wand ever created, more powerful than the Elder wand!"

Of all the times to be selfish James sure picked the worst moment. This was a big deal, the difference between an invincible Malvado versus a mortal one. James should give it back but, so far, he wasn't volunteering. Maybe he needed to be told. Al uncharacteristically did just that.

"Give it up, James!"

"I don't have it!" James yelled back.

"Where is it?" Hugo grilled him further, the urgency in his voice unmistakable.

James looked at their brother, confused.

"You don't know?" the older brother took out a wand from his pocket and showed it to Hugo, "I have yours! You took the wand by mistake back at the Ministry! You Petrified me with it!"

James had his eyes on Hugo who was now paler than pale. His younger brother looked like he was going to throw up.

Al asked the question, "Where is it, Hugo? Where's the wand?"

"Malvado has it," was his barely audible reply.

Hugo appeared absolutely defeated as he took his wand from James. He turned and walked away from them, and then sat at the bank of the river. He put his head between his knees to hide the fact that he was crying.

XXXXXXXXXX

"I'm sorry?" Harry replied, not understanding what the Hag meant.

"You did it again," the Hag repeated her accusation, complete with chastising tone, finger wagging and all, "You wasted your life to save her when you didn't have to. Jumping into a smouldering volcano, seriously? And I thought I taught you better than that."

Harry didn't know what other instance she was referring to but she did manage to make him feel more stupid than he already felt for leaping into the crater after the Biomorph. Still, he didn’t have a choice. He defended his ill-advised decision to rescue who he thought was Hermione.

"It could have been her."

"But it wasn't."

"I had to be certain."

"You should have been prepared and established her identity through different means. Let's do a debrief," the Hag went on and there was no stopping her, "You came here with no back up."

"This was personal."

"Still, you could have drawn from the many personal favours you've accumulated over the years,” she dismissed his excuse and then came the expected, “Boy! I didn’t want to say it but you've certainly become less sharp with age. This must come from years of being married to the red head. I hope for your sake that the damage isn't permanent and that divorce will reverse it."

He drew a sharp breath in and released it slowly, summoning all his willpower to remain in control. This was the Hag, reacting adversely to the insult would only encourage her.

The Hag didn’t miss a beat, ”You thought you could rely on pure luck and skill to survive this."

Not true.

"You had no well thought out plan."

He did. She read his mind.

"'Winging it' is not a plan."

He blurted out without meaning to, "You taught me to trust my instincts."

"I was referring to your mental instincts not your penile ones."

Harry flushed; he just walked into that. Best not to interrupt until she was done. He wondered how much longer he'd have to put up with her barbs.

"You obviously did not learn your lesson from the Gaunt case. She charmed your little head into letting her meet with Gaunt even though your gut told you otherwise. So you ended up getting AK’d to save her, which you didn't need to do in the first place because the Elder wand was loyal to her then and would have never hurt her. I know, I know, you didn't know that, but if you hadn't been hit by the Killing Curse then you wouldn't have lost your memory and the two of you wouldnt be in this personal mess."

The Hag continued, "Oh Heartbreak, you'll be the last to see this so I will spell it out for you. You're great at this saving people thing except when it comes to her. With her you always seem to end up dead or near dead.

"Thank goodness you two didn't work on more cases and she quit being an Auror. Can you imagine how many more times she would have gotten you killed? The next time she needs saving, don't. Let someone else do it."

"Don't save Hermione's life. I'll try to remember that."

"Are you mocking me?"

"I know better than to do that," he countered then threw her a bone she would hopefully chew on, "I need to return to real life. I need a portal. I don't have much time."

"On the contrary, you have plenty," the Hag disagreed, "You're maimed badly in your realm. Even if you regain consciousness, you're bound to be more of a liability. And besides, Malvado is Heartbreak Jr.'s fight to fight.”

Harry sighed. She was going to go on and on until she got her point across, whatever that was.

“Okay. Why are you here?" he asked politely, “Aside from pitching insults at me.”

"You mean 'why are you here'."

"Hag!" his turn to chastise.

His ire nudged the Hag in full Hagspeak mode.

"They say the truth will set us free. I'm here to help set you and Waterloo free."

She paused, measuring him. Harry had no idea what the Hag was talking about and she was dead serious. This wasn't one of her games. She had his full attention which led to more Hagspeak.

"Fate has brought your paths to cross each others' once again and there is an impetus to stay on one course. My knowing eye sees that you have both decided but it also sees that it will end badly again, even if she survives the Asphyxiatus. What you saw in the mirror will never come true. Spare everyone the grief and reconsider. This is the truth."

Reconsider? This was her big message? Every part of Harry refused to believe but thought better than to contradict.

"Thank you for the warning. We'll take our chances."

The Hag wasn't finished, "You seek redemption. This is why you want to come back into her life."

"That's not true," he denied.

"Not entirely maybe but how are you going to convince her otherwise?" she challenged, "How long do you think before she starts feeling like a charity case?"

He opened his mouth to answer but no thoughts formed and he couldn't put a reasonable reply together.

The Hag went on, "And if that doesn't make her turn all 'Waterloo' on you and leave you, her guilt for your guilt will. Waterloo does not compromise when it comes to happiness. It's all or nothing for her. There were times in her past when she tried but she can only go against her nature for so long. That's why she didn't marry the Chameleon Lover and why she gave up on her marriage to Comic Relief Sidekick. She will never be completely happy with you."

“I made a promise.”

“That you would love her unconditionally for the rest of her life? She knows; she doesn't need proof," the Hag said to him. “She understands that the hurtful choices you make are not a reflection of how you feel about her. And you give her the absolute same deal even though she's done horrible things to you. She lied to you many times, kept Heartbreak Jr. from you for years, and yet you're so quick to understand and forgive. In spite of all that, it hasn't diminished the way you care about her, and in my opinion, she did worse things to you than you did her. You are living up to your promise. You love her unconditionally. Why torture yourselves and your families just to prove something that requires no validation?"

"I forgot about her," did he have to point it out?

"Your defective memory wasn't your fault."

Hermione told him the same thing. It was incomprehensible how they could easily absolve him for forgetting. He lost it.

"I told her I loved her, got her pregnant, asked her to marry me and then married someone else! How is that not my fault?!"

His frustration silenced the Hag. She looked at him with understanding and sympathy, and waited until he calmed down.

When he finally stopped vibrating the Hag spoke, “Listen to me. It clearly wasn't your fault because it was hers. She knows it. And I’m not talking about the fact that it was her who insisted on going ahead with the plan to arrest Gaunt or that she was the weak link that night that caused all those deaths or that it was her you sacrificed your life for. She did something more idiotic than that, something she wants to tell you but can't."

"She'll tell me when she's ready," Harry defended Hermione.

"She won't because the truth will kill you and Death will not allow you back if I do. It is this secret and your unsatiable desire to make it up to her that will expunge whatever hopes you have of making each other happy."

Harry, perplexed, demanded clarity, "What are you talking about?"

"Death will not allow..."

"I don't care," he was fed up, "I will find another way back if I have to."

The Hag sighed and frowned,"I always knew your impulsivity will be the death of you. Are certain about this, Heartbreak?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied without hesitation.

"Then so be it. Perhaps your decision will lead to serendipity," the Hag gave another puzzling remark, "However, I would rather not be the cause of your inability to go back. It is best that you acquire this truth straight from the horse's mouth. You need to meet with Death before your return."

"Where do I find Death?"

"It will be far easier for Death to find you."

"How?"

And the Hag presented him with another challenge, "By proving that this truth is important to you."

A cone of warm light engulfed his entire being, drawing him inward. The Hag's fuzzy figure from just beyond the portal's borders spoke.

His two options were simple enough.

"Succumb to the call of reality and forget the truth. Refuse the portal and Death will come."

xxxxxxxxxx

Both Hugo and James wore grim expressions, silent. Al approached Death.

"We're going to need a moment," he told It.

"I am not a patient being," It warned before moving away from them.

Al didn't know exactly how much time they had but at least they were being given some. He and James joined Hugo and sat beside their brother on either side.

James apologized earnestly, "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

Hugo brushed off the tears from his cheeks with his sleeves. He was over his initial pissed off reaction and wasn't blaming James.

"Forget it. You had no way of knowing. I should have told you not to take it."

"So, what now?" Al asked the big question.

Hugo looked overwhelmed. He sounded it too.

"Malvado is very confident. He is not going to lose with that wand," Hugo didn't mince words.

"He might if you can shake his confidence," James said hopefully, trying to make up for his gaffe.

"For that you're going to need the Elder wand," Al carefully suggested, "Maybe the rest of the Hallows too."

Hugo had other ideas, "Or leave them here and hope for the best. We can't afford to lose any more Hallows to him. This way it will be just the one."

Al didn't agree, "One is all he needs. He already has it. We need to take it away from him."

He felt awful saying 'we' but 'you' would have sounded worse.

James chimed in, "Al is right. You'll have a better chance of shattering his confidence if you show up with the Hallows than just showing up as yourself."

Al added, "Not to mention a better chance of staying alive. If you unite the Hallows, you'll be Master of Death. You'll be immortal."

"I can't be Master of Death. I am not the Elder wand's master."

"How do you know that you're not? We can ask Death right now," Al suggested.

"Even if I were, I’d lose the wand soon enough," Hugo aired his main concern.

"Maybe you can hang on to it," James wasn't going to let Hugo give up, "You don't have a choice. When we leave this place you'll be seeing him again. He'll squash you like a bug if you don't use them."

"I can't win anyway. I won't be able to hold on to the wand. I'll just make things worse than they already are!" Hugo replied as they backed him to a corner.

Al, having been around Rosie all his life, was quite familiar with Hugo's stubbornness. He rarely won arguments over Rosie but drew upon how he won the few.

He suggested, poker-faced, "Fine, I'll do it. Just tell Malvado when you get back to stop cursing you and wait for me. I'm on my way."

His generous offer led to absolute silence, his stunned brothers looking at him, trying to decide if he was serious or mental or both. Then Hugo began to laugh and so did James. Al wasn't trying to be funny; okay, so maybe he was, just a little bit. He had a morbid sense of humour.

"What?" Al tried to keep things together, "You don't think Malvado will let you?"

That made Hugo and James laugh harder and at that point Al couldn't hold back anymore. He had this picture of a dumbfounded Malvado, his reaction to a proposal to wait.

The gales of laughter eventually died down and Hugo had the grim expression back on his face.

"If you really feel strongly against bringing the Hallows back, my offer is serious," Al said to him gravely, "But I'd rather you took them with you. For one, you're better at spells than I am. And I'd rather not lose my kid brother."

James added sincerely, "That goes the same for me."

Hugo's stance had softened, "You're both right. I have to do this. I can't let him kill me without a real fight."

“Well you can but we’re glad you’re choosing not to,” James got up and gave Hugo a hand, pulling him up from where he was seated, adding words of encouragement, "Give him hell."

"We'll come with help as soon as we can," Al gave him a pat on the shoulder.

The three Potter brothers faced each other, ill at ease, uncomfortable about the knowledge that in spite their unconditional support and best wishes Hugo had his work cut out for him. Neither Al nor James knew what to say to him and Al figured they were the last people Hugo wanted to talk with about how scared he was to die.

“You’ll get through this,” Al heard himself say, a prayer really, “It would be so unfair if you don’t. You’re on the right side.”

Hugo gave him a nod.

“And the right side always wins,” James added firmly, “Believe.”

Hugo acknowledged, the confident fire in his eyes burning a little bit brighter now. He fished out the ancient wand from the pouch around his neck and wrapped his fingers tightly around it. Al felt the unseen power of the Elder wand in Hugo’s hands and it removed any doubts he had about Hugo being able to do this. He glanced to his left; James felt the same.

Al saw Hugo smile as he let go of all his anxiety in one big breath.

“Now, let’s see if Death considers me Master,” Hugo said to them, then muttered to himself, “Mum, forgive me.”

Hugo summoned Death.

“Death, come.”

Out of nowhere, Death, different from the one they were speaking with earlier, appeared.

“Master,” It bowed to Hugo ceremoniously, “I am your humble servant. How may I be of assistance?”

Al wanted to listen in but Hugo and Death faded away. As he reappeared in the camp he charged forward to greet Malvado’s men in the open field screaming a barbaric battle cry. His small army of crazed wizards, yearning for blood, soon overtook him. Raw ferocity clashed head on right before his eyes as forces of evil collided with forces of less evil. Multiple wand fights broke out in close quarters.

Before long he was in the thick of the fight. He dodged curses and disarmed foes with wands and firearms alike. Two Hugo loyalists flanked him on each side, they had his back. As he abandoned his fear for his safety it was replaced by the single-mindedness of quickly getting Hugo much needed help. He couldn’t trust the army fighting for him so it was a good thing he had a choice.

Patronuses were chasing the Dementors away. Al headed for Uncle Ron.

XXXXXXXXX

Hugo faced Death, nervous and anxious. He didn't quite know how or where to start.

He asked the first question that came to mind, "Am I really your master?"

Its reply wasn't a cheerful one, "Yes. I wouldn't have come instantly if you weren't."

The unwelcome tone was the least of his worries. Questions filled him. The reality he was about to return to demanded truthful answers instantly.

"But the Elder wand," Hugo wondered out loud, "I thought one had to win it from someone to gain its allegiance."

"Actually, you did."

Somehow he understood, "James, when I Petrified him."

"His birthright as the Eldest of three," Death confirmed.

"I didn't know," he expressed regret, "I didn't mean to take it."

"Don't feel bad. Your brother all but completely relinquished it when he chose to accept the wand of wands," Death explained further, "And the Deathstick served your mother for a long time; your father twice. It recognizes the magical signatures of former masters in your blood. Its bond with you is exceptionally strong.You've heard it before. The wand chooses the wizard. By saving your life it has clearly chosen you. Believe that you have its undivided loyalty. And because you have that and possess both the stone and my cloak, I am your servant."

"How does this work?"

"Master - slave," It pointed at him then at It. "You tell me what to do, I follow."

"My parents," Hugo replied. Their lives were at the top of his mental list, "I want them alive. Don't take them."

"I'm afraid that is not possible. As Master you used to but no longer have the right to amend Death's harvest list to suit your fancy," It answered, "The previous mistress gave up that right on behalf of all future masters and mistresses."

Hugo repeated with disbelief, "My Mum gave that up?"

"Yes. She said it was too much power for one person. She exchanged it for the right to influence processes and practices as it relates to intra-realm and inter-realm soul movement. Your mother is a very strange being."

That did sound like something his Mum would do.

"So, you can't cause Malvado's death either."

"You catch on quickly. You are correct. Notwithstanding your lack of authority to tell me who lives and who dies, I cannot rescind any Deathly deals without the affected being's approval. As per his Deathly contract the being you refer to as Malvado will exist in your realm until he willingly gives up his invincibility stone to someone who willingly accepts it and gives up bodily control."

Hugo tried to pick up ideas that would help him with what he was about to face but, so far, Death had given him nothing. His frustration spilled over.

"So what good are you to me if you can't do anything about the two things I would like you to do something about?"

"While my Master I will obey your every command except for the items already discussed. And you have immortality. I cannot take your life."

"Until I lose possession of one of the Hallows."

"You don't believe in your abilities?"

"I am realistic about what I can and cannot do."

"Very well. If you already think that your reign as Master of Death will be short perhaps we should end this conversation and not waste our time."

"Wait," Hugo honed in to Death's earlier statement, "You will obey my command?"

"Except for.."

"Yes, yes," Hugo cut him off, "The exceptions are clear to me. If I ask you a question can you lie to me?"

"Not directly. No."

"I need your help to defeat Malvado."

"You'll need to be more specific about how I can help you. I cannot physically intervene."

Death wasn't going to be as cooperative as Hugo had hoped. Hugo came up with a more direct question.

"Can you provide truthful and reliable information?" Hugo queried.

"Yes."

"Other than giving up his stone and giving you back all the Hallows, can I make Malvado mortal in our realm?"

"No."

Hugo didn't think so but he wanted to be certain nonetheless. He asked his next one.

"Are there ways for someone like me to get rid of him?"

"Temporarily, there are a few."

"And permanently?"

Death stilled, Its faceless mask grew even darker than it already was. After some time It spoke, Its message ominous in both content and delivery.

"Yes. There is one but it will require an extreme and exceptional sacrifice."

It would have been a surprise if it didn't. Hugo swallowed the lump in his throat. If this wasn't his destiny it may have well been. There was no avoiding it. It was time to accept and take charge.

Hugo gave out his next command, "Tell me how."

"As you wish, Master."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N. Phew! There were so many different ways this Chapter could have gone.Would love to hear how you found it.

I didnt think Hugo would decide to unite the Hallows but then again, they all have minds of their own.

Love Al (am sure I will regret giving him that vision). I tried my best but my inner Hag just wasn't cooperating :( I think she didnt want to detract attention from the Potter boys.

Am so excited to finally see light at the end of the tunnel. Last chapter coming up (seriously). And hopefully sooner than 6 months - keeping fingers crossed. Then an epilogue to tidy things up.

Malvado vs Hugo....Invincible vs Master of Death...Wand of wands vs Elder wand ....A battle that will change life and death as it is known...(I hear you Books and Cleverness) I am so way over my head with this lol! Wish me luck everyone!

72. Time Warp

How to break an eternal writer's block

Step 1 - Take a weeklong vacation

Step 2 - Refuse to read work emails

Step 3 - load up on nuts, corn pops, more nuts, chips and stuff I would rather not admit to consuming.

Wow - time flies. Have probably alienated most readers by now but I did say I was going to finish this story so here's me still trying.

Thought this was going to be the last chapter - wrong. Hugo got a bit long winded. What can I say - I have no control over him as I don't have control over his father.

Pants have been on fire so many times but the last chapter should be ready in 1-2 days.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 72 - Time Warp

Harry regarded the Hag's unreadable expression through the haze of the barrier as the inter-realm portal hummed with urgency.

Succumb to the present and forget the truth. Refuse this portal and Death will come.

He never cared much about Hagspeak meaning until now. It was clear that she wanted him to stay but to what end? Why was meeting Death about Hermione really important or did she just want him to stay so he wouldn't influence Hugo's destiny? What was in it for her?

Logically it was a no brainer; whatever truth it was that he was supposed to find out it was in the past and if it was indeed important it would reveal itself in the future. There was no changing what happened. Living in the present made sense.

However, there was nothing logical about being in this realm, dreamlike and real at the same time, and him having concrete and philosophical discussions with dead people. True or imagined, this Hag version implied that Hermione could survive the Asphyxiatus and that having a conversation with Death mattered. The Hag was selling hope if he could take a leap of faith.

Harry thought of Hugo. He was at the Ministry, far away from the bottom of the volcano Harry left Malvado in. He had time.

Or did he? The passage of time was different here. There was no telling how long he had been gone from the real world. There was no telling how much longer he would be gone from there every minute he chose to stay here. In his mind it was a choice between saving Hermione's life or Hugo's life first.

It was so much easier moments ago when it seemed like he was trapped in this realm and didn't have much of a choice. He should have known that wouldn't last. For most of their lives, decisions involving Hermione were never ever simple.

He thought about her, imagining her looking at him in her usual way. I trust you to know what's best for us, he could feel her say. Thinking about her made it clear.

Hugo meant the world to Hermione. If she survived, it would kill her if they lost Hugo. She wouldn't be the same. And yes, maybe the Hag was right. Maybe he was too injured. Maybe going back now or going back later would not matter. But Harry had to do everything he could to prevent Hermione from losing another child. Staying for her, for them, would be meaningless without their son. He had to see Hugo safe first.

He stayed within the cone of light, the veil separating him from the Hag not thick enough to mask the disappointment on the Hag's face.

“I can't believe this. You're choosing your disrespectful brat over her? You're as bad as Waterloo when it comes to choosing between you and those you care about.”

“I'll find a way back or a way to talk with Death,” he said, more for his sake.

“You can certainly try,” the Hag replied with gravity that he had never seen her wear before, “But by then the truth will not matter. She will no longer exist in your reality. It will be too late.”

Harry steeled himself, standing firm on his decision, for Hermione. He wished the Hag would stop. He wished the portal would take him away sooner.

“I have to help Hugo.”

The Hag seemed truthful, “Your strength has always been your inability to just watch as things unfold. It is also your weakness.”

The cone of light surrounding him narrowed and then disappeared, his connection to real life closing shut with a resounding snap. The portal was gone. There was no longer a veil separating him from the Hag, who, judging from the frown on her face was as confused as he was.

The portal didn't take him. Why?

The Hag's image began fading away, extremely pleased, “Well Heartbreak, it looks like you're meeting Death after all.”

She gestured over to the clearing where a shadowy figure loomed ominously. Death, black, flowing, hooded robe, scythe and all. The Hag had something else to say.

"Listen carefully, we don't have much time. When Death gets here It will be unpleasant as it usually tends to be, but don't let It intimidate you. I don't know why It wants to talk with you but don't forget the reason you have to meet It."

Harry was decided about Hugo and upset that Death had delayed his return, "But I have somewhere else I have to be.”

The Hag merely laughed, “That may be true but you are going nowhere until Death is done with you. Fate has clearly spoken on the matter. You're sitting this one out. Malvado is Heartbreak Jr.'s fight. So don't be stupid; take advantage of this opportunity. Ask about the very first deal It struck with Its mistress. It will tell you; that'll be the easy part. Convincing It to let you return to reality after will be tougher."

Harry was already thinking about the impending conversation with Death, about insisting It to allow him to return to help Hugo. But he also had to know.

“Why does it matter to you so much that I stay? You're dead.”

She replied, “I have very few failures in my previous life. One of them is this. Waterloo should have been better prepared as Death's Mistress. Had I been a better teacher none of this would have happened. I let her fuck destiny to follow her heart's deepest desire and she got fucked back. She failed because I failed her.”

“I still don't get it.”

“Atonement for me and justice for her. She deserves a better ending than death by Asphyxiatus. I refuse to accept this destiny for her and, frankly, you should refuse it too.”

Just before the Hag completely disappeared, she had one last parting advice, "Remember what I said about your presence here being as pointless as the near fatal sacrifice you made that first time. Bargaining chips. Negotiate. Best of luck, Heartbreak! If you're lucky, you just might fix all this!"

The Hag made one final sweeping motion with her arms and then she was gone.

XXXXXXXXXX

The heavy weight upon her lifted. Even then Hermione could barely keep her eyes open. She saw a silver terrier with its jaws firmly latched upon one Dementor's throat. The latter retreated, trying to shake the Jack Russell off. It was Ron's. Boris' tiger and Seamus' fox followed Ron's Patronus and chased all of the Dementors away.

She tried to stand but couldn't. Ron came up beside her and then mostly carried her to a spot behind a huge tree for cover. A fight had broken out and there was absolute bedlam.

"Take this!" he yelled over exchanges of gun and wand fire, feeding unwrapped pieces of chocolate into her mouth before she could ask what it was.

She ate as fast as she could, her strength slowly but steadily coming back to her.

"Thank you," she managed to whisper in between mouthfuls.

Ron kept the pieces coming while he fended off would be attackers, until she felt like throwing up and couldn't eat anymore.

She would have asked why Ron had a considerable supply of chocolates on him but was conserving her energy for much more important things. Harry was with Malvado. She had to go and help him.

And Warren. She didn't know if Warren was still alive or if she could help him get his body back. Or if Harry would even let her try. If it ever came down to making a decision about Warren it was going to be a tough one. How she wished she had been able to talk him out of this harebrained idea of accepting the stone from his father.

She made a move to get up but Ron held her back and growled an order, "Sit! You're in no condition to fight!"

Hermione never liked “Protective Ron” but figured that if he could easily physically restrain her she wasn't going to be up to helping anyone. She obeyed, at least for now.

Taking the opportunity, she surveyed the scene. She recognized a few other IMPs and some Aurors from Harry's team. They were outnumbered by Malvado's remaining loyal followers but made up for it with skill and firepower. Over the next few minutes the counters became fewer and farther in between. Their position more secure, she made another effort to get up. This time Ron let her and helped her on her feet.

"You need to go to the St. Mungo's immediately," Ron urged her, "Padma's got a team of experts working on an antidote."

"Do they have the antidote?"

"Not yet but..."

Even if they did she figured she'd have time.

She argued, "Harry, he needs help."

"He wants you back in London."

Why Ron thought that would convince her to go was beyond her. She didn't argue. It required too much effort to say the words.

"Have you heard from him at all?"

Ron shared worriedly, "Not since he left to meet Malvado."

That was a while ago.

"And Hugo?"

"He's at the Ministry!"

"Are you certain?"

"Of course, I am," Ron replied in the familiar defensive tone.

Mother's intuition told her otherwise. She had to go up to the summit.

By then Ron had figured she wasn't going to take his suggestion to leave and muttered something about how he should have Portkeyed her back to London when she was out.

Someone yelled out a warning, “Here they come again!”

A second wave of Malvado followers descended upon them. They attacked both by air and by ground, forcing Ron and Hermione to seek refuge behind a half destroyed hut. Hermione noticed a large group of magical beings converge towards their foes, starting a gruesome and barbaric clash. A surge of adrenaline came over her.

She tapped Ron on the shoulder and spoke out loudly over the cacophony of curses and bullets, “Give me a wand!”

Ron hesitated but quickly relented when it was evident she needed at least something to protect herself with. He came prepared with a couple of spares and offered them up to her. Taking them both, she disposed of two of the three wizards ganging up on Maria and disarmed a couple of magicals who were giving Boris and Gummy a difficult time.

Enemies kept sprouting and popping up to replace the fallen. They were coming from around them and from above. At this rate she would never get to Harry and Warren in time to help them, or keep them from killing each other, if Warren was still alive.

"Cover me!" she told Ron.

Hermione surged out into the open amid heavy fire before Ron could talk her out of it. Left without a choice, he did as she asked. He gave her the time she needed to track her moving target.

Aiming carefully, she conjured a restraining spell and fired, clipping an airborne wizard with it. The rider spiraled out of control and crashed into another wizard, knocking both off their brooms. They fell straight into a swelling of local beings eager to tear them apart.

She summoned one of the brooms, straddled it and would have taken off if not for the several pairs of eyes that were now upon her. She found herself in the midst of an unfriendly looking crowd.

Hermione pointed her wand at the half giant who was approaching her.

"Wait! They're with us!" a familiar voice exclaimed before she could fire.

Al appeared from behind who she just now figured wasn't a Malvado henchman, still looking a lot like Hugo. Al in Malvado's camp?

Confused, Hermione asked, "What are you doing here?"

"Gates," was Al's one word reply.

Hermione quickly picked up on the Hugo loyalist vibe around them. The thought that Warren had risked Al's life to pose as Hugo so that he could bring together this anti-Malvado team of misfits infuriated her but thankfully Al was okay.

Al said to her, pointing at the peak, "Malvado is up there. We have to go, now!"

He said it with unmistakable urgency. One look into his mind gave her all the answers she needed. Hugo was up there too and Al wanted to go with her. He had to. These Hugo loyalists would quickly realize he wasn't the real deal if he stayed behind and they would instantly lose their support.

Ron was approaching them, his face as red as his hair. If Ron developed even an inkling that this Hugo was not Hugo but Al things could get ugly really fast. Her ex-husband never lost the tendency to speak first and ask questions later.

She motioned Al over and made room for him on the back of the broom, then kicked off from the ground to head straight and fast towards Mount Ingkanto's peak. Ron had found another broom and was swearing floridly, not very far behind.

XXXXXXXXXX

Fix all this?

Harry barely processed the Hag's cryptic message when he found himself face to face with the looming presence of the scythe-bearing dark cloaked being.

"Greetings Death," he hailed the new arrival, going for business-like to mask his annoyance at being powerless and trapped in this realm.

“I have no time for human niceties,” It said brusquely.

“Neither do I, actually,” Harry replied matter-of-factly, “I'm supposed to be on my way back to reality. You have detained me. I believe you owe me a portal.”

Harry took charge of the conversation. He was done being a pawn. The awkward pause in their talk could mean one of two things: It was pissed at his audacity to question his stay and was about to keep him permanently in the realm or, It was unprepared for the conversation they were about to have and was anxious of the outcome. Death's continued silence pointed to the latter. No sense giving It a moment to conjure a sound strategy.

“Time is precious, Death, yours and mine. I demand a portal now!” he raised his voice and threw in finger pointing for good measure.

“The delay is my doing but not my intent,” It revealed, “My Master has asked me to bring you to him and since you are quite incapacitated in your shared reality the only way I could do so was if you remained in this realm.”

The unexpected revelation sent Harry's intended plan on a tail spin. Harry didn't even notice that he had held his breath for a second. Death had a master? Since when and, more importantly, who? Did he lose the Elder wand to Malvado and if he did, how did the Dark Wizard gain possession of the Snitch encased Resurrection Stone and Invisibility Cloak to unite the Peverell Hallows again? Maybe Warren had managed to wrestle control of his body.

All the possible scenarios Harry could think of involved Hugo and not one provided him comfort. He couldn't go back on a portal thinking there was information here that could help Hugo or, worse, that Hugo was actually here. Regardless of who Death's Master was Harry decided that a meeting was in order. But Harry needed to know who so he could be prepared for the approach.

Harry pushed back, “I am no slave and I have no Master. The way I see it it's your problem, not mine.”

“You are correct. I suppose you may refuse to see him,” It conceded, “He did say you were not in the best of terms but he is desperate and does require your assistance in a matter of grave importance.”

It was difficult to imagine Malvado desperately needing help. It was time to cut to the chase.

“Who is your Master?”

“Your youngest son. You call him `Hugo' in your world,” Death revealed. “Are you not interested in helping your own flesh and blood?”

A huge pit just swallowed him up from the inside. It was one thing thinking it possible, it was another thing knowing it to be true. He waited for rational thinking to catch up with his emotional one.

“How did he unite the Hallows?”

“Malvado used his mother to lure him to Mount Ingkanto. It was a good thing he came when he did. You lost consciousness and fell off your broom. He flew you to safety and saved you from certain death. He had the Cloak and the Stone from the Ministry and gained possession of the Elder wand during the fight.”

“But the Stone was inside a Snitch.”

“He figured out that your 2nd son could open it. He's smart and very resourceful. It's hard to believe a thirteen year old kid can do all that but that is the truth.”

It was true. It was hard to believe Hugo had become the Master of Death. And it was unsettling information that the Snitch was Al's.

Harry was bursting from relief that Hugo was still alive, filled with pride knowing how he got to where he was and sick with worry of the danger he was in, all at once. He had no idea what dire predicament Hugo was in to ask for him but he was brimming with anxiety to help his son any way he could. He did note not to make it a habit to almost die in front of Hugo. That seemed to be happening a lot.

While certain that Death was telling the truth because It's nature couldn't do otherwise, to go with It would be to grant It a favour. It was a bargaining chip. Harry needed something in return.

“No offense but I don't know you. You could be lying,” Harry accused, “I'm supposed to be back in my reality helping the real Hugo. You're keeping me from that. For all I know, Malvado is now your master and you could be leading me straight into a trap. What guarantee do I have that you're telling me the truth?”

Harry was all in. Death stewed on his last words and Harry could not take them back.

“I will make it worth your while,” It said finally, “Once your conversation with my Master culminates I will send you back through the portal to the exact same time point in reality you were to come back to had I not interrupted the process.”

The offer was an interesting possibility which only made Harry wonder if everything that Rasputin told him about portals were true. He had to do some negotiating.

He countered, “That goes without saying. I wasn't born yesterday. You can do better than that.”

Death turned towards where It came from, as if in response to someone calling on It, a master beckoning perhaps.

“Teenagers aren't a very patient lot,” Harry said to It, understanding now that Death was tasked to take him to Hugo and had no choice but to negotiate.

“Very well. What will make it worth your while?”

It bit the bait. Now, he had to reel Death in. He was about to see Hugo, the immortal Master of Death. It was a no-brainer.

He thought about Hermione, about what the Hag said about refusing to accept her fate, about negotiating with Death for her life. Harry supposed he could make nice with Death and hope to get information about Hermione that way. But he sensed that while Death was built to be truthful It did not have a `nice' gene.

A confrontational approach could backfire. It could all blow up in his face but he was short on time and this was his window.

“Okay, take me to your Master. But on our way there tell me all about the very first deal you struck with the former Mistress of Death. It involves me and I'm curious as hell what it is and why I can't know."

Death stiffened even more unnaturally than Harry thought possible, the Hag predicting precisely Its response, "I can certainly do that, Mr. Potter, but once I do I'm afraid I cannot allow you to return to your reality."

Harry expressed feigned disappointment and sighed, "And I was trying to be nice. Hope your Master can wait, Death. We're going to be here a while."

XXXXXXXXX

Hugo took in Death's advice then sent It on an errand. He had hoped it would be more straightforward but it turned out that he had to outwit, outduel and outlast Malvado. He needed advice from the best dueler he knew, his father.

At least that's was what he told Death. Who was he kidding? A five minute coaching session with his father wasn't going to help. Malvado was a powerful wizard, a killer without a conscience. There was no amount of advice that could ever prepare him for the fight he was about to have.

If Hugo were to be completely honest there was a different reason why he asked Death to bring his father to him. He sent Death away hoping for some alone time, to build up the nerve to say what he was going to say.

He saw them approach over the horizon, escalating his anxiety. Closer now, his father was looking into his eyes both with worry and anticipation. It only intensified Hugo's desire to bail. Hugo had to look past them.

His father stopped a couple of feet from him. Hugo must have imagined it but it seemed that his father was restraining himself from grabbing and hugging him.

Arms settling awkwardly on his hips, his father greeted, “Hi. I guess it is true. You are Its Master.”

“It was pure dumb luck,” Hugo shrugged, “Seems to run in the family.”

Hugo didn't see but felt a smile.

“So, how can I help you?”

Hugo let out a big breath. Where to start? He glanced over at Death.

“Can you give us a minute?”

“As you wish, Master,” It obliged.

Death left them and an awkward silence followed. Now that they were alone Hugo couldn't even pretend to look at his face so he looked at their feet, not noticing that his hands were now on his hips as well, mirroring his father.

“I don't know how to say this,” Hugo finally admitted, hoping that would at least break the ice.

His father helped him out, “You're at the summit. Malvado is there with you. You want to know what to do.”

“Yes,” Hugo replied, and for a split second considered to leave it at that.

Then Hugo summoned the courage to say what he had to say to make things right between them. He looked up and looked him in the eye.

“But that's really not the reason why I asked to see you.”

His father frowned, and became even more concerned. Or maybe he was hurt from rejection. There was a time when Hugo wanted his father to feel that way but not right now.

“I mean, I'd love to hear what you would do,” Hugo tried to reassure him, “But unless you have some magical way to teach me all you know about defeating dark wizards in a very short period of time, I'm not sure you can help me much.”

“Why am I here with you, Hugo?”

It was too difficult to talk to him face to face.

“Can we sit?”

He looked behind him and found a bench. He could swear it wasn't there before.

“Okay.”

They sat beside each other, his father's constant gaze was upon him as he crouched somewhat and stared at the open space in front of them. After what felt like an eternity Hugo said the foremost random thought that came to mind.

“My very first memory of you was with a paper airplane,” he began, giving his father a glance, “It's hazy, and I'm not even sure if it happened, but I was little, I think you had me in your arms and this paper airplane whizzed around us over and over again.

“I also remember you and me at St. Mungo's. I fell off a broom and broke my arm. Mum had left to find the Healer and you waited in the room with me. I was so scared but you told me not to worry, that all broken bones heal, that you had many broken ones that did. Then I wasn't so scared anymore.

“There were other memories, with Rosie, Lily, Al and James in them. All of them good ones, happy ones. And growing up and hearing all these fascinating stories about you. I had no doubt all of them were true and I remember thinking you were so cool. For a time I wanted to be just like you. I mean, I love my Dad and all but I did wonder sometimes what it would be like to be Al or James. There were times when I wished I was your son.

“And then we moved and I lost everybody. I missed Rosie and Lily, and even Al and James. I missed my `cool' Uncle Harry. For the longest time I could not understand why we couldn't stay and why Mum took just me and not Rosie? What did I do wrong?

Hugo had to stop. He closed his eyes but that did not keep the tears from falling. He brushed them off hastily; he had to finish.

“When Mum told me who I really was and showed me my true self for the very first time, I was angry. Not at Mum, no, because I could never be mad at her. It was not even at you, that came later, to help me deal with the decision I made,” Hugo paused and prepared himself to hear a truth he had never heard himself admit, “I was angry at myself. I got my wish after all; I was your son. A part of me was happy; in way it explained a lot about myself and who I was made more sense.

“But it felt wrong to feel happy. I was about to hurt so many people I cared about because of some childish fantasy. So I've been denying myself that truth ever since. I can't have any part of you because it means taking you away from Lily, Al and James. Not your name, not your magic, not your concern or your love. I convinced myself that I wanted nothing from you. Had it not been for Mum needing your help I would have been perfectly happy living this lie forever.

“So, here I am. I'm about to face certain death and I realize. I can't deny who I am anymore. I am your son. And while I can choose not to take your name or your magic, this stupid part of me still wants to have what James, Al and Lily have.”

Hugo broke down. He didn't even know why he felt that way but he just did. And considering his current predicament he did not want to die without letting his father know that he wanted his love.

His father held him tightly as Hugo sobbed, tears in his eyes too.

After some time, he heard his father say softly, “Hugo, you are my son, and for as long as I live you have my love here in this realm and in every realm we are in. I will not stop caring about you.”

“And you are not taking anything away from Lily or Al or James. I have enough and I love you all. Do you hear me?”

Hugo nodded, moving away from his father's embrace. The powerful declaration was hard to dismiss as mere words. Or maybe Hugo just wanted to hear them so badly. Either way he felt much better, as if a heavy load had just been lifted from his shoulders.

Although it felt good to tell his father, he realized he did not want to dwell in it. There was no point. After all, it was highly unlikely that Hugo was going to be around long enough to have a more meaningful relationship with his biological father. It was now time to face the music and, maybe, the Head Auror could at least help him with his mindset going in.

He apologized, “Sorry for unloading like that. This thing I'm about to do is making me a bit emotional.”

The older Potter understood, “Most people would feel the same.”

Hugo asked, “About Malvado. Any advice?”

“For starters, remain calm. You need to be calm to think clearly and to fight a good fight.”

“How do you do it? How do you remain and not be afraid?”

“Calm you can do with training and experience. I still have fears, though not as much anymore,” the Auror intimated, “It didn't used to be like that. I was scared shitless the very first time Voldemort tried to kill me, and the few times after. But it is possible to remain calm even with fear. Calm you can work on. Fear too, but that takes time.”

“What made it go away? The fear.”

“Mostly, when I stopped being afraid to die.”

“Too many near death experiences?”

The Auror shook his head, “It was more an acceptance that I could die any moment and a belief that the unknown that happens after death is not necessarily a bad thing. It'll be sad to leave behind the people I care about but I accept it as part of life.”

Hugo didn't think he could do that, “I'm thirteen. This acceptance thing won't work for me. I don't want to die yet. I feel like I'm such a coward.”

“You're not. You're just being honest with yourself. Refusing to die isn't a bad thing; it doesn't make you a coward. I still work hard and try my best not to die. I don't want you to die either. I know this sounds confusing but you can accept the possibility of death and yet refuse to die at the same time.”

In a way Hugo understood. He was afraid of Malvado because he was afraid of death and the unknown that comes after. With or without Malvado, death was part of life, something he had no real control over.

“So acceptance of mortality is the secret to conquering fear?”

“Fear of death, yes. But there is the other fear that's more difficult to get rid of. Have been having a lot of trouble with it lately myself.”

“What fear is that?”

The older man admitted, “The fear of failure, knowing that so many people you love and care about depend on you not to fail.”

The words struck a chord. Hugo definitely feared that he would fail and cause the death of his Mum and all the others he cared about. But Harry Potter?

“You're the Head Auror. You've defeated many dark wizards. How can you fear failure?”

“Don't get me wrong. Saving people from bad wizards is my job and I am good at it because of years of training and experience. I also trust that many have my back. It is this confidence that eliminates much of the fear of failure in my job. But I am also human. One day, given the right conditions, there will be somebody better, stronger and more clever than I am. The fear of failure comes when the stakes are high, when people you love are involved. You don't want them to get hurt or die. Somehow accepting death is not as easy when it comes to them.”

Hugo identified with it, “How do you get rid of it?”

“You don't really if you were to be completely honest with yourself. You just hope and pray that the day isn't `that' day. And you still go through with it knowing that not acting is certain failure. In a way you don't have a choice and you just do the best you can.”

“But what if your best is not good enough?”

“Hugo, if there is one thing that you can be sure of it is this,” his father declared, “To the people who love you, those who really matter, your best is always good enough.”

Hugo thought about his current situation and asked himself if he had done everything he could to defeat Malvado. He realized he had not.

“I really need your help then. I don't have a plan. I mean, except for survive and not lose possession of any of the Hallows, and hope the earth swallows Malvado up just because.”

The Auror shared, “Funny how similar that is to my plan when the whole Voldermort thing started.”

“It has its merits. I mean, it worked many times for you, but it relies too much on luck,” Hugo pointed out.

“You're right. You need a better plan, one that involves more than just winging it and relying on luck. Thank goodness you are your mother's son,” his father countered, “We have a lot of work to do. You'll learn all the spells and curses you need to know, offensively and defensibly. You'll learn to recognize them and to cast them quickly and wordlessly. You'll learn to use your wand well and be equally effective using either hand.”

“Whoa! Hang on,” Hugo stood up, having trouble following the conversation, “When I get back I'm getting AK'd and, if I survive that, I will have Malvado right in front of me. I don't have time to learn all this.”

There was a glint of excitement in his father's eyes as he answered, “Time is strange here. The last time you were here you came back to the same reality time point you left, seamlessly as if you never did. The way I see it, you have all the time in the world here to learn what you need to before you return.”

“That makes sense,” Hugo heard words coming from him although they didn't come from his thoughts at all.

What just happened? Didn't he ask his father to come so he could come clean about how he felt because he was going to die? Now he wasn't dying at all, at least not yet, and his father was about to train him so he had a chance of surviving?

Hugo protested, “But…but isn't this cheating?”

His father shrugged, “Malvado is what? A thousand years old? You can't even grow facial hair yet. And he has murderous skills from a dozen or so evil wizards. Your magic, on the other hand, hasn't fully matured. If anything he's the cheat and we're just trying to level the playing field.”

Hugo let the words sink in, the insane idea had a rational basis and eventually trumped his sense of fair play. Rational or not, the idea still was loopy. He couldn't take it seriously.

“Right. I agree. Grown wizards challenging boys barely past puberty is so wrong. We need to put a stop to it.”

His father was focused, had now abandoned his place on the bench, “First, I need a wand. You're going to show me all the spells and curses that you know, including any special abilities you have. We're going to build on those and use them to your advantage. And then, when you're ready, we're going to get Death to help us find the wizards Malvado took skills from.”

“What for?” Hugo had to ask.

“You'll need sparring mates,” his father had gone mad, with an afterthought, “Although I'm not sure if they would still have their abilities and we may have trouble convincing Death to give them wands.”

Hugo certainly hoped Death had more sense about that than the pacing mad man in front of him. The thought of fighting more dark wizards made Hugo queasy. From the looks of it his father was serious. Didn't that list of evil wizards include Grindewald and Voldemort?

All of a sudden, the enormity of the shift from thinking survival unlikely to thinking survival possible hit him.

“I think I'm going to throw up,” he bent over to heave, hands on his knees.

The Auror, deep in plot mode, didn't notice his visceral reaction, “Even so, we'd have to make sure that stipulations are made with Death so that you never lose mastery of the wand in this realm. It will be disastrous if you do.”

And this isn't a disaster yet? Hugo took deep breaths in and out.

“I'm going to push you to your limits and then beyond. You are going to hate me many times.”

That I can do well. I have experience.

“Maybe even wish you never asked me for help.”

“Regretting it already,” he uttered loudly involuntarily, then retracted when he got the look, “Am kidding, I think. My head is spinning. One second my death was an almost sure thing and now I may actually live.”

“Yes!” his wide-eyed father replied, clutching him firmly by the shoulders, “Isn't that great?!”

Hugo let unfiltered thoughts stumble out of his mouth “But I said all those things to you about how I felt about you.”

“Hmm. You did that because you thought you were going to die. You have confessional remorse,” came the accurate assessment, “Were they true?”

“Yes!”

“Then I'm glad you told me. Deal with it.”

“That's not the point.”

“You're rambling, much like how your Mum gets when she realizes she's about to make a weak point,” his father was amused now, “Get to it.”

“I'm supposed to fight Malvado on my own!”

“Because of the prophecy of some drunken seer?”

“Yes.”

“And you probably will fight him on your own since everyone keeps telling me I'm badly injured and won't be able to help,” the older Potter seemed okay with that, “Listen, forget about the prophecy for a second. You and I are here in this bizarre realm with all the time in the world. You say you do not want to die. I have skill and experience I can share with you so that it will be less likely that you will. Give me one good reason why you would go back to face this murderer without them when you can go back with them.”

Hugo thought, hard. He couldn't think of one. Lingering father trust issues weren't good enough. He didn't count on being his son longer than today, hence his confessional remorse, but maybe time alone with his father was exactly what he needed to resolve them. It was fear of failure of a different kind but as his father just said, not doing it would be certain failure. He didn't want to fail this one.

And yes, with the passing of time, they would miss all the people they love. He might not see his Mum, his Dad, Rosie and the twins, Isa and Spencer for years, if at all. But they were doing this for them and, when they got back, they would not have been gone long enough for them to be missed.

Hugo wondered if his father even considered that.

He quietly pointed it out, “You won't see Lily, Al and James for a while.”

“I know,” his father nodded, “This is too important. It'll be difficult for us but at least they won't know we've been gone long.”

That covered, Hugo had no more qualms about what they were about to do.

“You're right. This makes better sense.”

“It's settled then. We're staying. Just one other thing.”

“Uh-huh?”

“This is going to take a while and we're going to spend a lot of time together.”

“I can live with that.” Or ask Death to send you back if it really gets ugly.

“At some point you are going to need to call me by a name.”

“Al and James warned me about this conversation.” Hugo fessed up, dreading the question for something he had no ready answer for.

“Good. So you know I won't let you refer to me as `Harry' or `Mr. Potter' and I will not respond to “hey you”. `Father' makes me feel like I was born in the 19th century. That leaves you with either `Dad' or `Dad'. So think about it and pick one.”

Hugo paused thoughtfully, smirked as he made a counter suggestion, “`Old man' has a nice ring to it.”

In one motion, the older Potter snuck a foot behind his leg and pushed him back. Hugo lost his balance and hit the hard rocky surface with a thud. His backside stinging, he looked up to find his father with a wide grin on his face, and a shot to boot.

“Tell you what, smart mouth, I'll make you a deal. You can call me whatever you want if you can pull that move on me.”

His father offered him a hand. He took it and pulled himself up.

“Deal,” Hugo answered, although he knew he wasn't going to try, not for a very long time.

XXXXXXXXXX

At Shell Cottage, Lily watched her mother. She was in the living room, seated, eyes transfixed on the Potter timeteller. For a brief time her dad's hand had slipped to “dead”. Her mother cried then but refused to believe it true and wouldn't let anyone console her. Somehow, either through sheer collective will or prayer, it moved and with Al's hand now pointed to `mortal danger'.

Lily sat beside her, took her hand, and squeezed it tight. Tears they had been holding back poured out. She knew what her Mum was thinking because she was thinking the same. Please, let them be okay.

Earlier, Lily had overheard. The attack on the Malvado compound was underway. Surely news would come soon.

XXXXXXXXXX

At the London Ministry of Magic, an exhausted Jessie continued testing the various possible antidotes to the Asphyxiatus poison. Twenty other St. Mungo researchers and MOM Unspeakables were brought in to help expedite the process. Even Unspeakable Max had taken up a station to find a cure.

She couldn't bring herself to look at Padma who was overseeing the experiments. Hours ago, they had narrowed the list of possibilities to one of several blood compatible substances that the poison would preferentially bind to instead of blood. But the links remained unstable, the duration of binding too short to allow adequate time for extraction . Progress, since then, had been bleak.

Jessie looked at the clock. Even if Ron found her alive, she didn't think they'd have a cure in time to save Hermione's life.

“I think I have something,” Head Unspeakable Max announced, projecting his workstation up so everyone could see.

The set up was simple enough: a blood vessel with a continuous flow of human blood, infuse poison, infuse binding agent. They waited, one minute, two minutes, three…

They gathered around the workstation with shared anticipation.

“Five minutes,” Padma announced with relief, “It's stable enough to allow extraction.”

“What's the agent?” somebody asked amidst the celebration.

Unspeakable Max held up the vial and read the label, “Preserved blood of a three-eyed crow mixed with hair of direwolf. Has anybody read or heard of such magical creatures?”

Lots of shaking heads and blank expressions in the room. A few started consulting magical creature research literature.

Jessie had heard of such creatures but she wasn't about to tell them they were from a popular Muggle novel. Somebody both smart and stupid had slipped in an un-catalogued substance for testing and the bloody thing worked.

XXXXXXXXXX

Isa read Rosie's message. Hugo's non-clotted blood specimen worked on the poison but there was a problem. She should have known not to trust Spencer with naming the fake source.

“Three eyed crow? Direwolf? You couldn't just pick some obscure, extinct magical creature we learned at class?” Isa glared at Spencer, who as usual thought it was a pretty good idea.

“First of all, nobody pays attention in that class except you,” he shrugged, pleased that she was pissed. “And I love Game of Thrones. The…”

“I know, the TV version, not the books,” she interrupted him, “We don't want people to turn Hugo into some lab rat.”

“I agree.”

“Don't you think that if somebody figured out your feeble attempt at cleverness they'd know the specimen was planted, they'd try to find out who planted it and eventually work out who the sample really belongs to?! You're such a genius!”

“I know. Don't mention it.”

“Ugh!”

Isa went on her computer, quickly hacked into the International Magical Creatures database to insert “three eyed crow” and “direwolf” into the records. She backdated the entry to when the system went electronic and referred source as a parchment document. No one looked for parchment archives anymore because most researchers knew those were permanently purged. She took a few obscure research papers and substituted topics in case someone did a lit review, posting them in even more obscure journals. She quickly reviewed her entries and hit save.

All that unnecessary work because she trusted the boy wonder.

“Tell me again how you acquired this criminal skill before you came here?” Boy wonder asked.

“I had to help out in the family business.”

“Oh,” Spencer wasn't really interested, “Does Hugo know yet?”

Isa tried to be calm, “Rosie said Hugo never returned after he dropped off the blood samples.”

“He went to face Malvado,” an uncharacteristically serious Spencer said what she already thought but didn't want to say out loud, “Why would he lie to us?”

Isa had good guesses, “Because he didn't want us to worry. Or maybe he didn't want us to try to stop him or worse, try to tag along.”

“He has never lied to us before. It must be the prophecy. It was something he had to do on his own,” then Spencer shrugged, worry resolved, making attempt to reassure her, “Don't worry. His father is with him. I'm sure he'll be fine. Can't wait to hear how he kicked Malvado's ass.”

For the first time since they met Isa wished she thought bit more like Spencer. That feeling lasted all of three seconds.

“You are such an ass!” she muttered then stormed off.

XXXXXXXXXX

Somewhere in Great Britain, the Keeper had just received word that Hermione Granger was alive, poison antidote in the works. The band of Malvado followers had broken up into smaller leaderless factions. The Aurors had assessed the situation as stable enough to involve the South Asian International Muggle Police and troops were expected to arrive shortly.

No word on the Hallows, Harry Potter or his two sons.

XXXXXXXXXX

The broom sped up the mountain apex as fast as it could take two riders. Close to the peak, Al saw an unmoving figure of a man who looked very much like his father.

He tapped Aunt Hermione on the shoulder and motioned her over to where his dad was. She dismounted right beside his body. Uncle Ron landed not far behind them.

One of his arms didn't look right and there was a lot of blood. Hugo did mention their father was severely injured but still, seeing him broken like this, was unnerving. As they knelt beside his dad's body both Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron had the same worried expression he wore. Somebody, say something.

“He's not dead,” Al declared, determined to say it, as if to make it so if he was.

Aunt Hermione had just put a wand over him and confirmed, relieved, “He isn't. But he has lost a lot of blood. He needs a Healer.”

Uncle Ron took out a pen, offered it to Aunt Hermione. Al recognized a Granger-Weasley argument in the making.

“Portkey. Takes three straight to St. Mungo's Emergency Room. You and Hugo should take him.”

“No!” Aunt Hermione refused.

“You need care too!”

“What I need is to be with my son!”

Uncle Ron looked at Al, confused.

“Not me,” Al quickly clarified, “The real Hugo.”

“Al?”

He nodded and explained, “Polyjuice.”

“Then Hugo is at the Ministry.”

Aunt Hermione looked to Al to answer.

Al obliged, “No, Hugo is up there with Malvado and you really should...”

“How do you know this?”

“The book, her Hallows book, took Hugo, James and me to Death in some strange place. Hugo told us where he was. You really should go look for him,” Al finished his earlier statement. Now, how to make this sound very urgent, “He needed help…many minutes ago.”

Uncle Ron was more confused, “I don't understand.”

“We don't have time. I'll go find Hugo,” Aunt Hermione finally got it, “You and Al can take Harry. Al will explain everything to you.”

His uncle protested and threatened, “I won't allow it and I will hex you if I have to. Don't make me.”

This can't be happening. Al had to stop them.

“No,” a feeble voice called out, his father, beating him to it, “Let her go. Hugo will want to see her.”

“Harry,” Aunt Hermione moved back beside him, holding his better hand, “Don't talk.”

“Come closer.”

She leaned in as he asked.

He said something to her that Al couldn't hear but whatever it was, it brought tears to her eyes. She nodded as if to say `yes' and pulled away.

Aunt Hermione said to them as she brushed her tears away, “Please take him to St. Mungo's.”

His dad had more to say, “Ron can stay with you. Al and I can go. Al, tell them about the wands.”

Right. Al almost forgot. High points.

“Hugo is the Master of Death. He has all three Peverell Hallows, including the Snitch-free Resurrection Stone. We tried to return them to Death in that strange place I mentioned to render Malvado's stone powerless but we found out that Malvado has another Death issued wand, the Wand of Wands. It's more powerful than the Elder Wand when used by a confident wizard. So we convinced Hugo to keep all three and come back here as Master of Death. Not sure if this matters but Malvado does not know what he has. And I hope I'm wrong but I think Hugo's been up there with Malvado all by himself since I came back from our visit with Death, and that was at least 5, maybe 10 minutes ago. So go…now…please.”

There was a loud rumble followed by a fiery explosion at the crater.

Thankfully they didn't need to be told twice. Uncle Ron handed him the Portkey and sped away just behind Aunt Hermione. Still kneeling beside his dad, he heard his father speak.

“Need to teach you how to tell people what to do,” he uttered weakly, the amusement in his tone made Al smile. Then, he added, “It's been a long, long time. It's good to see you, Al.”

Al heard that severe injuries could cause confusion. He had to take him to St. Mungo's right away. He looked up at the peak one last time thinking about Hugo.

His father must have sensed his worry for he had words of comfort which Al found just as curious.

“Don't worry about your brother. He'll be just fine.”

Al pressed the pen button. Their surroundings blurred away. Soon, they were in one of the examination rooms at St. Mungo's. A team of Healers descended upon them even before he could ask for help.

As the Healers took his dad away a question popped up in his mind. How did his father know about the wands?

XXXXXXXXXX

Moments earlier, in another realm…

It was time.

Hugo was sure of it. It had been two years since he and his father decided to stay and it was time to go back.

He had been walking all night thinking of good reasons to stay. He couldn't find one. His desire to continue to spend time with his father and have the older man to himself wasn't good enough.

And there were so many reasons to leave. He missed everyone in his life. Judging from his frequent portal visitations he was certain his father did too. And most of all he missed the normalcy of being a teenager.

He got back to their camp and found his father going over his latest training results.

“You did excellent today,” the older Potter complimented.

“Yeah, I did.”

His father was always generous with compliments, even when he didn't do so well. He continued to pour over his training history. He did this, looking for gaps so they would know what to work on next. There had been no gaps for a while.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm ready to go back.”

His father looked over the parchments, regarded him quietly for a moment and responded, “I agree. You're more than ready.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence but I wish you wouldn't overdo it, old man.”

His mentor chuckled, “You're right. You do suffer from annoying bouts of arrogance.”

“Let me guess, I get that from Mum?”

“You said it.”

“Speaking of Mum,” Hugo treaded carefully, confronting him of a growing concern, “I saw Rasputin the other day. I know you've been spending time trolling portals watching her past.”

Hugo discovered that in the last few weeks, when he no longer needed as much coaching, his father found a destructive hobby to pass his time.

“I'm going to strangle that little Russian next time I see him,” his father tried to divert focus on someone else, “He should really learn to keep his mouth shut.”

“Not his fault. Seriously, I'm worried about you. Watching what she went through is eating you up. I can see it.”

“You know how your Mum gets about her past,” his father tried to defend his actions, “I figured that if I saw she wouldn't have to tell me and I'd understand her better without having to ask.”

“But Dad, shouldn't we trust that she has good reason why she's not sharing her past with us?”

“Yes, but I wish things were as simple as that between me and your Mum.”

“Precisely. Things have never been simple between you two since she made that deal with Death, and doing this isn't going to fix it,” Hugo knew this because he knew his mother well, “She won't like this if she finds out. You have this amazing one of a kind relationship. There's a way to make it right. This isn't it.”

Even before he said that his father knew he was right.

“I'm sorry. This place gets to you, you know,” his father admitted, “It's so tempting to stay to see where you went wrong and fix things.”

“I know. But this isn't really real.”

“You definitely have to go back,” his father teased, “I'm starting not to like you.”

“I'm not leaving you here on your own,” Hugo decided, not trusting his Dad's current fragile state, “I'm staying until you're ready. Are you?”

In two years he had gotten to know the man who was his father. The older Potter paced, this decision a hard one for him to make. Letting go of this realm was more difficult for him than for Hugo.

Hugo patiently waited, he wanted an answer. And finally his father stopped pacing and faced him.

“Not quite,” came his response.

Hugo was disappointed but he respected the choice. He'd try again at some point when the time was right. He looked away to hide his reaction when his father unexpectedly tapped him on the shoulder.

The Auror reached out to Hugo with both arms and invited, “Come over here.”

He hugged him, tight.

“My son,” the older man spoke, “You're right. It's time for us to go back. I know in my heart you can do this. I've known since the beginning. But if things don't go our way, I know you gave it your all. I'm proud of you and I love you, Hugo.”

After spending all this time with his father he truly believed the words now.

“I love you too, Dad.”

“Now I'm ready. Let's go home.”

Home. Hugo liked the sound of that.

On cue an inter-realm portal opened up for his father. Death, probably eager to be rid of them, must have been eavesdropping. The older Potter stepped away from their embrace and into the cone of light.

He spoke, “I'll see you when you get back.”

Hugo nodded, wishing he could promise that he would. Before the portal could take his father there was something Hugo had been meaning to tell him.

“Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“I'm glad you did this with me,” Hugo said candidly, “I didn't want to be alone.”

“I'm glad I got to hang out with you. I had a great time.”

Then his father was gone. Hugo hoped to see him soon. It was his turn.

“Death?”

It appeared.

“Yes, Master.”

“Am heading back. Thank you for everything. You were a big help.”

“It was my duty to serve.”

“I know. Kind of felt bad for you, my Dad pushed for a lot. I was surprised that there is an almost infinite number of things that can be considered as `assisting Master's long term survival'.”

“Your father drove a very hard bargain and he keeps eluding me. I am certain we will meet again someday.”

“I am certain you will,” he concurred, hoping this won't happen for a very long time.

Hugo had a very strange relationship with Death, one he still did not fully understand and probably never would. If things were to go as planned this would be their last encounter as Master and Slave. In a way he was going to miss Death.

“Are you going to need a portal, Master?”

“Yes, I will but give me a minute or so.”

Dismissed, Death disappeared. Alone now, Hugo closed his eyes and focused, an exercise he did every day he trained. He visualized what he would face immediately upon his return to his former reality.

He felt no fear of Malvado. Physically and mentally he was prepared to fight. He owed his father that.

He also stopped fearing death and all the uncertainty surrounding it. Living here with all these dead witches and wizards took the mystery away. Even without his immortality as Master of Death, Hugo came to understand what his father meant about accepting what is certain and what you have no control over.

Fear of failure, his nemesis. He still had nightmares about a world where Malvado kills him, his Mum, both his fathers and all his siblings. He figured the only way for the nightmares to end was to go back, face the fear and do his best to not make the nightmare a reality.

That was a very good reason to go back. That and normalcy. He wanted to have a normal life and it all seemed possible now.

He asked his father once, How did you find the courage to fight someone more powerful than you were.

His father replied, Believe that you have something greater than yourself worth fighting for.

Hugo heard the familiar hum of the inter-realm portal and opened his eyes. He was as ready as he could ever be. Securing the Elder Wand, he did the same with the Stone and the Invisibility Cloak, and took a firm step into the cone of light.

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Document created with wvWare/wvWare version 1.2.7

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73. Son of Death vs Master of Death

A/N. Well, here we are, finally.

The last chapter. Took me an extra 5 days (at least it wasn't another year!) to get HHr right. Bexis - one chapter would not be enough to completely repair HHr - it would take an entire story!

Hope this was worth the wait.

XXXXXXXXXX

Chapter 73 - Son of Death vs Master of Death

`The one who calls himself the Son of Death will rule without challenge until the coming of age of the Son of Death's Mistress. They will fight a battle unfought before, altering life and death as it is known.' Prophecy by Chastity Kriselda Durning a.k.a. The Hag, dated July 10, 2001, multiple witnesses during the 2001 Great Seer Gathering.

Within the warmth of the inter-realm portal, Hugo braced himself for impact.

In an instant, white light was replaced by a blinding green laser that struck his body with an intensity of a lightning bolt. It felt like his chest ripped open as he was catapulted into the air by the force of the curse.

He struggled to focus because of the unexpected pain and, instead of easing himself to a balanced landing, got slammed hard onto jagged rock. On instinct one hand went up to check his chest for a possible gaping wound. Finding none, he was finally able to take a normal breath in. He quickly got up, Elder Wand in hand and ready, facing a bewildered Malvado.

“How did you do that?!” Malvado demanded, angry and confused.

“Maybe you didn't do it right?” Hugo offered, in spite his father telling him not to antagonize the beast.

Another green curse that looked just like the last one was about to make impact.

Oh shit!

His shield came up short again and it hit him at the same spot with the same force causing the same pain and the same aerial body effect. He gritted his teeth to prevent himself from screaming. This time he was able to orient himself while in the air and somersault to a reasonable landing, wand at the ready. His breath hitched every time he took it. That really hurt.

Must remember that profanities and exclamations are not spells.

The truth was Hugo had counted on being able to forego protecting himself from a few of those. There goes that strategy. Nobody told him the AK would be excruciatingly painful but then most didn't survive the curse long enough to feel it; except for one person who survived it not once, not twice but three times. He'd have to have a talk with his father about this.

“How are you doing this?!” the frustration in Malvado was somewhat comical if not for the extremely sore torso he had right now.

“Maybe your wand is broken?”

The realization finally dawned on Malvado, “You have all three Hallows. You're Master of Death.”

Good. At least Malvado didn't need to AK him a third time to figure it out.

“And you're the Son of Death. Do you know that in many master-slave societies that makes me your Master too?” Hugo couldn't help himself, and seeing how incredibly angry Malvado was becoming only increased his desire to continue, “Oh wait, I almost forgot. Death said It doesn't have a son. It wants a paternity test.”

“You have an insolent mouth! Nobody talks to me like that!”

Hugo saw Malvado's wand hand twitch and felt incoming projectiles from behind him and to his right.

Protego!

He whipped up a shield in time and rolled to his left, avoiding another just conjured AK. It exploded behind him, splattering him with broken volcanic rock.

It then rained Stunners on him but he was able to repel most of them back towards Malvado. For his part, his opponent seemed to have smartened up after the delayed limb regeneration incident and was now avoiding them.

With Malvado on the rare defensive Hugo attacked.

Confringo!

He conjured blasting spells in succession, aiming for Malvado's wand limb to gain possession of the Wand of Wands. The ultimate game plan was to return all four Hallows to render both Malvado, and the remaining Invincible currently on the lamb, powerless.

But the older, more experienced wizard regained his composure, warding off Hugo's attack utilizing both wand speed and power. It was Malvado's turn to counter. A steady stream of powerful stunners, blasting spells, maiming curses, disarming hexes and any other conceivable magic that could cause permanent injury were thrown at him.

Hugo put up his best defense to weather the storm. Part of the strategy was to frustrate the enemy, shake his confidence, and cause him to make a mistake. Without confidence, the wand in Malvado's hand would be a lesser weapon. This was not only going to be a fight of skill but also a fight of endurance.

It was strange. Hugo could tell what spells were being conjured and when they were coming even before they were fully formed. He had trained hard and could recognize spell characteristics as they emanated from the wand but usually never before they were actually conjured.

The ability to anticipate the hexes gave him the extra split second to react. He had not gotten hit critically. Hugo calmly dealt with them all, using some defensive spells but also his quickness and agility to dodge the hexes. Utilizing terrain physical attributes was also a major part of his defensive tactic.

He had learned that given a window of time, regardless of magical strength, the efficacy of a magical spell was inversely proportional to the number of times the spell was conjured. Malvado may have a vast arsenal of abilities but only a few of them mattered in battle. Magical physics would be on his side soon.

Of course the laws of magical physics also applied to defensive spells, the reason he was trying to conserve them. He was going to need effective ones when it truly counted.

“Fight me!” Malvado growled, strafing Hugo's immediate vicinity with immobility hexes, a telltale sign that he was rebuilding his arsenal.

Hugo moved to his left, staying ahead of the curses, parrying them off when they got too close. Malvado's suggestion to fight was starting to sound good. All the physical work he had to do to avoid most of the spells was wearing him down. And he knew Malvado wasn't even warmed up yet. With Malvado conserving for a more damaging spell he had to make a pre-emptive strike.

Crack!!!

Malvado Disapparated. The Dark Wizard had used this on his Mum the last time so his father had made sure hide and seek Disapparitions were part of his training. Hugo quieted himself to feel the air around him, picked the spot of impending magical presence and fired a burst of Stunners into it.

Stupefy! Stupefy! Stupefy!

Malvado cursed loudly as a couple hit him mid-Apparition. Hugo turned and fired the same curses at the original Apparition spot where his enemy reappeared a split second later, hitting Malvado again and causing him to fall.

Now on the offensive, Hugo peppered the off balanced wizard with blasters. A couple grazed him. But the Dark one was quick, once again Disapparating before Hugo could zone in on a vital organ.

Hugo fought instinct and closed his eyes, tuning in to the characteristic energy deformation. He crouched as he felt an imminent reappearance in his vicinity.

Sectumsempra!

He slashed at Malvado's knees with a cutting spell at re-entry. It took half of one leg off but Malvado moved away in time that the cut to the other was superficial.

Malvado countered, stunning him at close range. Hugo took the first one and it flattened him to the ground. He barely blocked the next and was in a very bad position. Hugo had to move or do something about Malvado's wand hand.

Reducto!

“Argh!!!” Malvado screamed in agony as his right hand turned into dust, the undamaged Wand of Wands dropping on the ground a few inches from where he was.

Hugo summoned it. Just as it reached his left hand Malvado swung at his head with his other fist and hit him squarely on the jaw. Pain exploded from the point of impact and reverberated through his entire skull. His head was still ringing as two more came down hard on him. Malvado pummeled him to the ground. One unfortunate thing about his thirteen year old body was that it wasn't built to take punches like that.

Or the boot that was about to hit his midsection. He was supposed to avoid a physical fight, particularly in close quarters, but now that he was in it he had to engage. Still reeling from the blows to his head, he had to focus. He grasped the Elder Wand and willed his body to assume that of the most muscular human he could transform into.

He steeled himself to absorb the kick and to roll with it, ending up on his back. Malvado was still handless and now wandless. Ignoring the pain he aimed both wands at his foe.

Stupefy!!!

Two stunners struck Malvado at the same time. The enemy staggered back but only a couple of steps, and he was on top of Hugo in no time. Their bodies crashed hard on the ground causing him to let go of both wands with the impact.

As quick as Hugo was Malvado was even quicker on his feet and received another fist to his face. He was feeling the strain of being beaten up and constantly on his backside. Without either wand, instinct took over. Hugo brought his hands to meet the foot that was about to come down hard on his head and in one motion twisted it hard in an unnatural position with all his strength.

It snapped, causing Malvado to fall on his side in agony. Groggy from the head hits and not knowing where exactly the wands were, Hugo willed for the Elder Wand. He conjured the first hex he could think of the second it came.

Incarcerous!

Chains of metal snaked around Malvado and tightened. Hugo pinned him down with his weight. Then he punched Malvado in the face.

Once, twice, three times. Hugo lost it. Wrath came out of nowhere and took over without his permission. With each hard blow came the sound of bone against bone, a satisfying release and a motivation to do it over and over again. Malvado deserved this for generations of pain and death, all those beings, those innocent lives, his Dad, his Mum; his Mum who was about to die because of this evil man.

Tears blurred his vision and he heard a primitive cry which sounded very much like him. His knuckles sore, bloody and slippery, he continued to pound against the wizard's face.

“Hugo, stop! It's me.”

The voice was so familiar that it jolted him back from his uncontrollable rage. He saw Warren's broken face before him, causing momentary confusion. Then, the wounds began to heal right before his eyes. While it was still Warren's face, the eyes and the wicked grin were definitely not his.

Hugo felt a stab of a wand tip on his ribcage. Concentration broken, the restraining spell was off. Malvado, with Warren's face, laughing.

Knowing that no physical maneuver or defensive spell could spare him the incoming hit, he summoned his wand, aimed at Malvado and fired an offensive curse he hoped would cause the most damage.

Barely getting his hex off, his ribcage exploded and a blinding pain shot through him it almost knocked him out. Best guess, a blasting curse, just like the one he just conjured. He managed to stagger away from Malvado but had to fight to remain conscious, to stay alert, get through the pain and be prepared for the next attack.

Transforming back into his own body, he could feel he was slowly healing but he needed more time to recover. From a crouched position, he glanced up at Malvado who was about twenty feet away, the smoldering crater to his right. Somehow, they had managed to fight their way back to summit.

Malvado, it seemed, was taking a breather too, hand fully recuperated but now missing a part of his face.

“You can't kill me. I can't kill you. I can heal. On the other hand, you…”

Malvado stopped mouth slightly agape, seeing that the hole the Malvado spell created in his side was no longer there.

“…can heal too,” Hugo finished for him, faced him squarely and took a fight ready stance.

It still stung like hell though. Quick, shallow breaths seemed to help, hopefully not too obvious to his foe. Too bad there were no known anesthetic spells strong enough for his type of injury.

“Your mother couldn't do that.”

“Upgraded version,” Hugo replied, wand still aimed at Malvado, wary of both his opponents' eyes and any slight motions with his wand, “Master of Death 2.0.”

“I see. I am impressed. Warren is impressed too.”

Willing his senses to see Warren as enemy, Hugo did not bite. He made that mistake once and wouldn't again. Hugo had just then accepted that if Warren was still alive he was going to die with Malvado.

He should have taken advantage of Malvado's state but, frankly, he was spent. He could counter and defend, yes, but was not in any condition to mount an effective attack. Regeneration always took a lot out of him and he wasn't even sure he could follow Malvado should the wizard decide to leave and fight another day.

“Well, this is just stupid, don't you think?” Malvado continued, gesticulating with his hands, abandoning a fighting posture, “As you can see we are both very powerful wizards. We can't kill or hurt each other. So what's the point in all this fighting?”

“You picked a fight with me.”

“I obviously made a mistake,” the older wizard countered, then made a mind-boggling suggestion, “I have a proposal for you. I want what you have and I want the Hallows. Take my Stone and join me.”

Hugo spat at him, “How gullible do you think I am?”

“On the contrary, I think you are a very smart young man,” Malvado patronized him. He retrieved dark vials from his pockets and laid them gently at his feet, explaining, “Antidotes to the Asphyxiatus, the only ones in existence; one vial for testing by your experts and the other to rid your mother of the poison. All I ask in exchange is for you, the Master of Death, to accept the Invisibility stone from me and give me the Hallows.”

There should have been no question in his mind what the answer to this question was. His father had warned him that because Malvado had control over Warren's body, such mind games were a big possibility. This bargain for his Mum's life that he was being presented with was one scenario they went through. Hugo had assured his father and himself that he was not going to cave into the pressure. And here he was, considering it heavily when his decision truly mattered. He reached into his logical brain for support.

“There is no known antidote. You're lying.”

“I could be but what if I am not. What have you got to lose?“ Warren's image snarled evilly, “In a few hours your mother will experience one of the most excruciatingly painful ways to die. Would it help if I gave you three days to verify the results for yourself? See your Mum well? Three days is a long time, time you will not have otherwise. If you are satisfied with your mother's recovery, we'll meet and perform the transfer. You are an honorable young man. I trust you to keep your word.”

Every thought and voice within him screamed “no”; except for his own. After two years thinking that she was dying and unable to do anything about it in a realm limited in what was already known he would give anything for a chance to see his Mum alive and well. He picked up the vials, touched them, to make them more real. Malvado wasn't through with his offer.

“Still not good enough? Let me sweeten the pot. I will make an Unbreakable vow before Death on my Stone that, if you accept my offer, any blood relative of yours will never die by my hand or by my command, and that Death take away my invincibility if they do. I will leave your family alone for all of eternity.”

And as if Malvado could read Hugo's mind he added, “Let me take away your fears. Let me stop the nightmares. What would you rather do, Hugo? Join me and save your entire family or fight for a losing cause and watch them die one by one?”

Made up memories of his family and friends dying by his hand flashed in his mind. In his vulnerability Malvado had accessed a private mental space and was now toying with him. His unseeing eyes were filled with horrible images and shutting them didn't make the graphic pictures go away.

In it his mother and his father said to him, “Don't fail us, Hugo.”

“Enough!” he screamed, the thought of failing them broke the unauthorized connection.

Large beads of sweat trickled down the side of his forehead as he flicked and pointed a steady hand at Malvado. Taken aback, Malvado had his arms up, locked and immovable, his feet dangling on thin air just above the crater of the volcano. He did not know what hit him until he saw a wand fall right in front of Hugo's feet.

Elder Wand steadily aimed at the Dark Wizard, Hugo picked up the Wand of Wands, held it with the antidote and walked over to the crater edge. He said to Malvado.

“What good will it do if I give myself up to you to protect my family but abandon everyone else? I would rather die than fail that way.”

Malvado's visage resurfaced, his eyes as black as the night, fury palpable.

“Then you can't have it both ways!”

The vials burst in Hugo's hand, glass perforating through his palms and out the back. Fake antidote or not the physical pain Hugo felt was nothing compared to the agony of seeing the potion that represented his Mum's life pass through his fingers.

A single thought came to mind. Malvado had to end now. The Hallows would have to wait.

Eyes fixed on Malvado's, he summoned Death one last time.

“Master,” It said.

“A portal please, right at the crater.”

His calm façade belied the fierce resolve to extinguish any remnant of being Malvado possessed.

Death was being meticulous as usual, “I am not supposed to interfere in this fight or cause his death.”

“Technically you are not interfering and you are in no way causing his death. The fight is over, as you can see,” Hugo reasoned, “I need a portal to escort this escaped being back to the realm where he came from.”

“The portal is designed to transport one being at a time,” It reminded.

Hugo was well aware of that.

“Really? Then I will use it accordingly. Thank you.”

After a measured pause, Death obeyed. The earth shook and chunks of volcanic rock coated with hot steamy magma shot out from underneath Malvado. Hugo looked down into the darkness.

Realizing what Hugo was about to do, Malvado mounted a raucous protest.

“This is not humane! If you send me through this portal it will not hold! I will cease to exist! Warren will cease to exist! Anywhere!”

According to Rasputin's calculations, Malvado, having accumulated multiple magical signatures over the years, would likely collapse the portal and disappear forever. And if the portal didn't collapse, Hugo was going to join him to make sure that it did.

Hugo ignored his plea. He felt no guilt or remorse for what he was about to do. He released Malvado and watched him fall into nothingness. It would be over soon.

Out of the blue, burning excruciating terror gripped his entire being. Hugo crumpled to the ground on all fours, screaming and writhing in anguish. The Mental Cruciatus. It was searing and crushing at the same time, coming in waves of increasing intensity until his body and mind couldn't take it any longer.

Hugo blacked out for what must have been a short period of time. He was awoken by the sound of two wizards in conversation.

“You're late. What took you so long?”

It was Malvado; somehow he survived. Hugo had to fight back. Then he noticed. There was nothing in his hands other than shards of glass from the broken antidote vials.

He summoned the Elder wand. It did not come.

“A simple thanks will do,” the voice was that of another wizard, familiar but Hugo could not place where he heard him before, “What do we do with him?”

He summoned Death. It did not come.

Malvado coldly replied, “Use this wand. Kill him in front of his mother.”

His mother? Out of the corner of his eye Hugo saw two figures dismounting from brooms.

“Let him go!”

His mum's voice.

“Mum…”

Hugo turned his head up towards her direction. He missed her so much he just wanted to see her.

“Hugo!”

He blinked and her face came into focus. She was crying. His Dad, his Uncle Ron, was holding her back at a safe distance.

“Please, let him go!” she pleaded.

Someone took him by the arm, got him up on his feet and pushed him forward.

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Hugo!!!”

His world turned green. This time, Hugo felt no pain at all.

XXXXXXXXXX

Malvado looked upon the grieving mother, fascinated by his lack of indifference. Somewhere within him the remnants of his son's existence wanted to go over and console the woman.

He sent Warren a message, “You picked the wrong side and lost. Resistance is futile. I will find you and destroy you.”

There was no reply save for the sudden taste of bile in his mouth.

The Prophecy. Son of Death against Son of Death's Mistress. It would have been honorable to keep it strictly between the two of them but he learned from Voldemort's experience never to underestimate kids. He was right not to.

“We lost all our men,” his new right hand man updated him of the situation.

It was a surprise this change in the guard but it was well earned and well deserved. Hector was old school like he was. He needed someone fresh and current. He had thought it would be Warren but this young one would have to do.

“We rebuild.”

It would take time but he had done it many times before. Then he would be great again.

“What about them?”

The other wizard motioned over to Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, both with wands in their hands and ready to avenge their loss.

His regeneration was still incomplete. Given his current state he didn't like his chances against the Granger woman.

“Leave them. She's a dead woman,” he replied, “Him I don't care about.”

“Salazar…”

There was no need to call his attention. Malvado saw. There was something wrong with the boy they just killed.

The dead boy's body was a kaleidoscope of warm colors, pulsating, a slow, steady heartbeat. Moment by moment the pulse picked up and pounded with increasing force, until if got so fast he couldn't pick up where one beat ended and the other started.

Suddenly, the boy burst into blistering flames they had to step away. It burned vibrantly and gloriously, incinerating the figure instantly. Red, yellow and orange danced at its core weaving around each other in patterns so magnificent it was mesmerizing.

Colors gathered at the center of the blaze, organized and formed a shape. A human figure…with wings. It was looking straight at him.

Malvado retreated slightly, wand in hand, prepared to curse whatever came out of the fire.

As ready as he was he wasn't prepared for what came next. The human figure shot out of the fire, a gale of immeasurable force and speed. It grabbed a hold of him with a death grip and took him straight into the still open portal.

The portal whirred loudly as it took them in. In no time, the walls of the inter-realm vessel expanded and contracted vigorously in unnatural proportions. Face to face with his nemesis, he saw his reflection off its avian eyes. Although he felt nothing, his face, his entire body was expanding and contracting the same way the portal was.

Horror gripped him by the throat. He could see essences of beings he acquired escaping his body. They sensed death. He looked down at his hand and could not find the wand.

The humming sound rose to deafening levels as the base of the portal began to crack and fold unto itself. The only reason he had not fallen yet was because the winged boy had him by his robes.

Malvado looked the boy in the eye, begging for mercy. The boy said nothing but his eyes told Malvado what he needed to know.

He was let go and gravity did the rest.

XXXXXXXXXX

The Council of Death was emergently convened. A catastrophic event had just occurred. The time continuum barrier had been breached, damaged by a massive explosion of an inter-realm portal.

Repair of the rip and containment was of the utmost priority or death as it was known would cease to exist.

XXXXXXXXX

Hugo regained consciousness in the arms of his Mum. There was a dull ache on his back and shoulders and he felt like his bones had been arranged incorrectly inside him. The portal tried to suck him in as it imploded and it took a lot of effort to get out. He hurt all over but he knew it was over.

Malvado was dead. But his Mum…

“Mum, I'm okay,” he said to her as he sat up, ignoring the pain as he moved, “The poison…”

A couple of figures with hospital badges appeared out of nowhere.

His Dad said to them, “Let's get you both to St. Mungo's.”

XXXXXXXXX

One week later at St. Mungo's

“So, in the two years you spent in that realm training to be this kick-ass warrior, did you get some?”

Spencer was straddling one of those swivel chairs back to front, asking the first question that came to him after Hugo shared a slightly edited version of what transpired. Hugo laughed. It was good to be back.

Isa, as usual annoyed at their friend's lack of propriety, replied, “He was trying to save his life and the world, not on some quest to get laid. This is the first time we're being allowed to see him and that's the first question that comes to your mind?!”

“It's a fair question,” Spencer responded, “He's a fifteen year old trapped in a thirteen year old body, with raging hormones like us. Be honest with us Hugo, did you have a steady girl while you were there to help you, you know, relax?”

Isa's eyes rolled up. Hugo chuckled.

“Yuck! I don't want to hear about my brother's sex life,” Rose interjected, “Oh wait, I do!”

They laughed.

“No, Spence,” Hugo answered, knowing Spencer would not rest until he did, “Didn't really meet any nice dead girls my age while I was there.”

He glanced at Isa who was seated on his bed beside him. Spencer was right about raging hormones though. He had dreams about Isa when he was away, dreams one wouldn't really consider innocent and more bordering on inappropriate considering who they were to each other. They started off subconsciously while he slept then grew into something more conscious towards the end. He rationalized that it was normal. Professor Dumbledore said so himself during one of their fishing trips. Considering that Isa was the only girl his age he was close to who wasn't related to him, he figured things could have been worse.

At the moment, he was crushing hard on his best friend. Her proximity wasn't helping him in his efforts to explain it away.

“I'm really glad you had a chance to work things out with Dad,” Al, who was standing close to Isa, chimed in.

Apparently Al and Isa had been running into each other a lot in the past week and got to talking. Probably more than talking judging by how his brother's arm casually rested around Isa's shoulder and how they stole glances at each other when they thought no one was looking.

His chest tightened at the sight. Check that. He was crushing hard on his best friend who was currently in love with his brother. Well, he did ask for normal. Pining away for someone else's girl was normal for kids his age.

Hugo replied, “I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for him. How is he?”

“The same,” Al answered somberly, “James and Lily came to visit.”

“She forgives him?” Hugo wanted Lily to, for their dad.

Rose weighed in, “Forgive might be too hopeful a word. I said `hi' to her and she totally ignored me.”

That meant it wasn't time for him to come to Lily either. Hugo was disappointed.

“She'll come around,” Al reassured them, “I'll take you to see him later if you want.”

He nodded, though he preferred to do it on his own. His dad was still in a coma. This in spite the fact that the healers found nothing that could cause him not to wake. Hugo was worried about him but surprisingly not as much as he thought and wondered if he lingered in the other realm for news. He wished he could summon Death and ask It, or even travel back to where his dad was. For a fleeting moment he felt bad losing mastership of the Elder wand.

Isa spoke and gave him an excuse to look at her, “By the way, we just ran into your Mum. She looks so much better.”

“Yeah, she does.”

When he and his Mum arrived at St. Mungo's that night the Healers had a sample of a possible antidote but they quickly ran out. An urgent search for three eyed crow blood and direwolf hair came up empty. Aunt Jessie somehow figured that Rose planted his blood sample with Isa and Spencer and they told her the truth. He begged her not to turn him over and, thankfully, she understood.

While he had learned to harness his healing powers during combat they were still raw and not fully in his control when not under life or death situations. Nobody knew if or how long they would last, not even in the other realm. It was also something that only a few people knew about; his mum, his two dads, Rose, Isa, Spencer and Aunt Jessie. And he had asked each of them to keep the secret to themselves. At some point, he hoped to find someone who understood the phoenix-healer part of him. He was not in any rush.

He couldn't wait to leave the hospital and resume life as usual. He was going back to the IMAN for school and live the life of a thirteen year old, maybe break some rules but work for good grades so he could get into a respectable Healer Training Program and deserve it.

His Mum was happy when he told her that and that he was no longer going to deny the abilities he was born with. Hugo told her what his dad did, how he helped him get into a better state to fight Malvado and have a chance, and how he got to know him better in the two years. The first time he casually referred to his father as `Dad' in their conversation and completely without spite he noticed a relief in her. While he didn't intentionally get close to his dad for her he was glad that it made her happy.

Mum was thinking about staying at Grimmauld for a while. He didn't know if that decision had to do with his father or the fact that talks were underway for an IMAN in the area but he was glad. It would be difficult and awkward at first but at least he'd see his family more often. He wished though that his dad would wake soon.

Hugo listened as Spencer, Rose, Isa and Al talked about the events of the past week while Hugo was sequestered and out of touch.

The Malvado trials were on the way. The village of Pag-asa was being rebuilt. With Gracie gone his Mum's friend, Maria, had taken a leave of absence from her current International Magical Police job to help in the process.

There were a lot of changes at the Ministry.

Unspeakable Max had stepped down as head of the Department of Mysteries, an early retirement. Efforts were on the way to find a suitable replacement however Unspeakable Boots was the favorite candidate.

His father was still Head Auror but because of his medical condition his other dad was tapped to fill in for him in the interim. Ted and George Bones got merit citations for the vital roles they played in exposing the Hosiah Humptail-Salazar Malvado connection as well as the capture of Malvado's men. George Bones was appointed Interim Chief of the North division (while his dad filled in for, er, his other dad).

Aunt Jessie, still Chief of Forensics, after seeing that her Mum had recovered from the Asphyxiatus, had decided to take an entire year off work on a Sabbatical, citing that she had seen more dead bodies in recent weeks than she would normally see in two years. Finnigan's was also temporarily without its owner. She and Uncle Seamus were off travelling to parts unknown. Ridiculous stories came out of the tabloids that she had become a mad woman insisting that staff perform more tests on bodies to verify death before putting them in the freezer. Frankly who could blame her?

There was a new Minister for Magic. Samuel Greengrass was unanimously voted.

“Guys, check this out!” Spencer had short attention span and was looking through the blinds out the window, “Paparazzi. On the tree outside Hugo's window.”

“I hate those guys,” Al had strong feelings, “Wish they would leave us and Mum alone.”

Hugo heard that the rumor mills were having a field day speculating whether Aunt Ginny and his dad would still divorce or if his dad and mum were getting back together because of him. He didn't know what was going to happen with his dad still being in a coma and all but after spending all kinds of time together, Hugo knew what the older Potter wanted. The two years was not only filled with hours of training but hours of talking, a lot of it about his mother. His father spoke of them not only as a couple but as partners in helping fight evil.

He saw his mum and their friendship through his father's eyes now. For years he heard how great it was but it was nothing compared to listening to his father talk about her and them and what they went through. Hugo wished for his old man to get what he wanted, not for Hugo but for himself, but it depended a lot on what his mother did. That and he had to wake up.

“I got an idea!” Spencer was always full of them, “Let's moon them.”

Isa objected, “No. They'll think it's Hugo.”

“In the first place, so what?”

Hugo concurred, “I agree.”

“But understanding this act would be considered as one not fitting a respected Potter, I, Spencer, will take the fall. We'll need a pen.”

Isa took one from her purse and handed it to him, with less resistance than Hugo thought it usually merited. Instead of taking it, Spencer turned and dropped his pants.

“Write “Spencer's ass” on my butt.”

The room burst out into laughter.

“Sorry,” Isa refused, “I supply the pen. I think I've done enough.”

“Al, bud, come on,” Spencer urged, slapping his butt cheek.

“Uh,” Al hesitated, then declined, “I'd like to be your friend but we're not that close yet.”

“I'll do it,” Rose volunteered eagerly, snatching the pen from Isa.

“Go Pink!” Spencer cheered.

Al protested, for reasons totally unknown, and suggested, “Let Hugo do it.”

“I'm not touching his butt,” Hugo held both hands up.

Rose explained as only she could, “The way I see it, of the people in this room I am the most qualified. I've touched a few boy butts and I've actually seen many boy butts, all three of yours included.”

She pointed to each of them with satisfaction. Spencer looked proud; Hugo didn't care; but Al…

“What?! When?!”

“Spencer a few days ago, Hugo many times before he turned five and you, two summers ago, camp, boy's cabin.”

“You spied on me naked?!”

“Ew. Not you. Me and the girls were spying on Troy, you just happened to be there. So really, not my fault,” Rose rationalized, then turned to Isa, “It was on the skinny side but a fine one.”

Al blushed crimson red. Everybody else was laughing.

His brother declared to him, “Your sister is a depraved human being.”

Spencer butted in, “Hello, getting cold down there.”

While the others were busy mooning the paparazzi, Isa took his hand in hers and gave it a brief squeeze.

She said to him, “I'm so glad you made it.”

“And in one piece,” he joked, acutely aware of her now non-existent touch.

She smiled, “What did you miss the most?”

He thought about it for a second, looked at his friends and family in the room talking about nothing and everything, then replied, “This. Normal stuff.”

Isa's facial response was a cross between a smile and a frown.

“You've changed, a lot,” she concluded.

He had. It no longer bothered him that he was Harry Potter's bastard son. He was finally at peace with who he was.

Before he could reply a burst of laughter erupted. The paparazzi had lost his grip taking a picture of Spencer's ass that he fell off the tree. Revenge complete.

Isa asked, “Do you think it's over?”

The Peverell Hallows were back with the POTH for now. He, Al and James with the use of his Mum's book would return them to Death when he got better.

The Wand of Wands was nowhere to be found, presumed to have been with Malvado in the portal when it collapsed.

As for Malvado's accomplice, the wizard had gone under and was at large. Neither his mum nor his dad saw his face so they couldn't ID him. However, returning the Hallows should render his Invincibility stone powerless.

Hugo replied honestly, “I don't know but I really hope so.”

“Excuse me,” Spencer had an important sounding question, “Why won't this thing come off?”

Isa had a mischievous glint in her eye. The butt marker was a permanent one.

Hugo laughed. Normal stuff.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had been walking past Harry's private room at least once every day since she was well enough to walk. There was always someone with him; healers, aides, James, Al, Lily, Hugo, Ron. And Ginny of course, who almost never left his side. She went in and sat with him during the nights when they were gone.

Tonight's visit was no different than the ones before. She snuck in undetected and sat on the chair to his right. She didn't say much, found that words were difficult to find. She mostly watched him. The few times she touched him, his hand, his shoulder, his hair, she had tears in her eyes. She kept expecting him to respond and, because he didn't, she was overcome by this overwhelming desire for him to be better.

She was worried; worried that he would never wake up, worried that he would wake up and they'd have to talk about what they had to talk about, and worried that he would wake up and he wouldn't remember.

Truth be told she was anxious about speaking with him. She'd had a lot of time to think about what happened between them since Harry found out about Hugo and about what he said to her that night he almost died after fighting Malvado.

I know about your deal with Death. I know it wasn't my fault that I forgot about us. It wasn't yours either. But if you think it was, I forgive you. I only wish you could forgive yourself so you can stop running away from us. Come back to me.

She wasn't sure if she could ever forgive herself but she was back to hoping she could. He had always had that effect on her. And she was back to hoping that there could be a `them' again, a feeling she didn't particularly like. She just then remembered why not. Hoping for a `them' always hurt her in the end.

A `them' again, after all these years. Things wouldn't be the same as it was before. They were not the same people they were fifteen years ago. Did he realize that?

Hermione took his hand in hers.

And what if you don't wake up?

The possibility gutted her and it suddenly was hard to keep still. She didn't belong here, she didn't belong anywhere, not without him around.

She stood up and kissed him on the mouth, silent tears falling as she did. She pulled back a bit.

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips.

Hermione left the room that night and the hospital the next day.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Two days later, Tisdale Cemetery, Timmins, Ontario

Hermione was at Warren's funeral. There were about five hundred wizards, witches and beings here. She did not realize Warren knew so many people and expected a smaller gathering but many had come from all over the world to pay their last respects.

The service was solemn and tasteful. She couldn't help but shed tears as she remembered how he saved her from herself and how he died trying to save Hugo. No matter what other people thought of him, to her he was a beautiful person.

Aside from his twenty-three known biological children accompanied by their mothers (yes, he did try his best to fulfill the Hag's prophecy that he would seed the world), most of the attendees were people who had known Warren from way back when he was still with the Canadian Magical Law Enforcement. Then there was the other group of mourners, those who probably had outstanding criminal warrants in other jurisdictions.

She laughed inwardly, even as tears still came down her cheeks. That was Warren in a nutshell.

The man beside her offered her a handkerchief. She took it and thanked him.

“Good man,” he said, “But how much tedious drivel must one endure?”

Hermione must have chuckled, drawing judging stares from the other mourners.

“It's a funeral,” the man chastised harshly, “You're not supposed to laugh you know.”

I expected better etiquette from you, Waterloo. And more howling and tears.

Warren's voice in her head.

And I expected you to be dead.

Then a thought crossed her mind that made her sad.

Stop it. I'm not a ghost or your imagination. You're perfectly sane, well, in that regard anyway.

Then explain.

When the portal collapsed it destroyed the physical me so technically I am dead. But not dead dead. The implosion caused several rips in the time continuum barrier. Past, present and future connections exist in some places. The Death Council went in emergency mode to fix it but, until they do so completely, unauthorized being travels are causing major anomalies throughout the realms and they need experienced essences like me to help retrieve inter-time and inter-realm jumpers.

You actually agreed to do this?

I volunteered. And it's your fault.

How is it my fault?

I was a perfectly self-centered being before I met you.

You're still a self-centered being. Fess up.

Unlimited access, of course. Imagine this. Women. Lots of them in every conceivable realm on the time continuum.

Hmm, doesn't do it for me.

It was prophesized. I have to seed the world.

Twenty-three seeds in this reality not enough?

Not nearly. Just twenty-three, huh? Could have sworn I had a couple more.

What are you doing here?

Checking out the turn out. So, what do you think?

For someone who pissed off so many, impressive.

Better be. I told many of them they'd get paid at the end of the service. Some of them I actually owe money from. If I were you, I'd leave, now. I may have given your name to a few. Got to go. Work to do.

Warren.

Yeah.

Thank you. For what you did and for letting me know you're okay.

Take care of yourself, Waterloo.

XXXXXXXXXX

Two weeks later…

Hermione looked at her timeteller; five before one; she was a few minutes early for her final POTH meeting. Hours earlier, James, Albus and Hugo returned the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone and the Invisibility Cloak to Death. The POTH was no longer needed and she was visiting each POTH member individually to give her personal thanks for the service they provided. That and to terminate their POTH contract.

Meeting with Boris was most difficult. He had been with her since its inception and erasing his POTH related memories was tough. He, like the rest, opted for Obliviation. In the end it was he who urged her to do the task when she wavered.

She had erased six memories today; one memory to go. This was going to be even more challenging but for very different reasons.

The porch light was on as she approached the front door. The Keeper was expecting her. Hermione pressed the ringer, her anxiety amplified as a soft melodious ring echoed within. Not long after, the Keeper was at the door ushering her into the foyer. The unfamiliarity of it suddenly struck her as she pulled her cloak hood back. All these years and it was her first time inside the Pitch.

"It's late. I apologize," Hermione broke the ice, dispensing with the more traditional pleasantries.

"It has to be done," Ginny replied with genuine understanding, "How does this work exactly? I was only half listening when Professor Flitwick explained termination of duties."

"There's not much to it. I go in, assess potential security risks and remove your POTH associated memories."

"Memory alterations make me nervous."

"I'm sorry. If it makes you feel better I've done six today without any problems."

Ginny was indeed tense, a demeanor Hermione had not seen in a very long while. She had anticipated Ginny's unease. Undergoing voluntary Obliviation required trust. She didn't imagine there was any of that between them.

Secret meetings of the POTH kind were beyond Ginny's comfort zone. Nobody who knew enough about the POTH, especially Warren, would have guessed her involvement, which made her the perfect alternate Keeper. Even if Warren had suspected, he would not have questioned his inability to access pockets of her mind, her being the Head Auror's wife and all.

Admittedly, when Professor Flitwick suggested it two years ago Hermione seriously doubted that Ginny would accept and that was the only reason she did not try to dissuade the professor from making the offer. It was quite surprising when Ginny agreed. Although she was perfect, for personal reasons, Hermione would have much preferred someone else.

She scanned the premises. They were alone. Ginny had given her elf the night off as she asked. She preferred not to be disturbed, to keep the meeting with the Keeper short, professional and to the point.

"Do you have questions before we proceed?"

"Yes, I have a few questions."

Hermione had hoped not but that was expecting too much out of a Daily Prophet columnist.

"After you Obliviate me, how are you going to explain your being here?"

"I won't have to. I'll be gone when you regain full awareness," Hermione replied, "It's best if we do it where you were just before I arrived."

"That makes sense. This way."

Ginny turned and walked down the corridor, opening the double doors leading into a study. As Hermione followed Ginny she noticed papers on the desk, the beginnings of an already heavily edited paragraph on the sheet at the centre and several discarded drafts haphazardly strewn about.

"Bad writer's block," she explained.

She sat at her desk and motioned Hermione to sit across from her. Hermione preferred not to sit but didn't want to upset the fragile state of things between them so she did. The red head continued with her questions.

"Was Gates aware that I was the Keeper?"

"He knew our history. I don't think the possibility ever crossed his mind. Why do you ask?"

"Why did he send IMP impersonators to the Pitch?"

"I made him vow he'd protect the Potters against Malvado," Hermione gave her one of the reasons, “And he thought Harry had the cloak.”

"And Al?" Ginny was still miffed at Warren about that. "Asking my son to pose as yours."

Hermione's instinct was to defend Warren's actions like she did when Harry questioned his motives, all borne out of a twisted sense of loyalty to him. She owed Ginny nothing; she owed Warren a lot. But in the end there was no point making Warren out to be someone no one else would ever believe him to be.

"He crossed the line. What he did was wrong. If it were the other way around I would feel the same as you."

That wasn't a lie.

Ginny revealed, “Harry knows. He said something to me today.”

Harry had woken up a few days ago. She had yet to visit, something she still wasn't ready for. How did Harry find out?

Hermione asked, “Al's old Snitch?”

“That and Dovalov's and Seamus' visit here to warn me. He didn't buy that they came over to see him because they should have known he was on the other side of the world,” Ginny explained.

“Does it matter to you that he does?”

“It is not necessary to Obliviate him,” Ginny replied, “After today it won't matter. He asked why I did it.”

“Why did you?” Hermione was curious.

“For James, Al and Lily. They had as much claim to the Peverell Hallows as Hugo did. I did it for them, to safeguard what is theirs.”

Hermione understood, “You thought I was stealing their birthrights to give to Hugo.”

“I didn't think you were actually serious about getting rid of them. Can you blame me?”

“No. We would do anything for our children.”

Ginny agreed, “And Harry, we do have those two things in common.”

The mention of Harry was a cue for Hermione to get Ginny's Obliviation underway.

“If there is nothing else…” Hermione began but was interrupted.

“Actually, there is one other thing I'm desperately hoping we can discuss,” Ginny wavered, suddenly uncomfortable.

Hermione regarded Ginny's expression. She had a few guesses about what Ginny wanted to talk about, all of them about Harry and the children, and none of them she was keen on hearing. But there something about Ginny's demeanor that spoke to her as a truce of sorts. That and her curiosity was piqued. What was it that Ginny was desperate to talk to her about?

"If it's about me and Harry, I'd rather not hear it," Hermione told her truthfully.

"It's going to be difficult but I'll try not to let it be about that," Ginny answered, then took a breath in and out before continuing, "I love Harry. I always have and always will. I know you love him too. It's a few years too late but I needed to tell you that I'm sorry that I hurt you when I married him. I should have known about you."

Hermione was surprised. She didn't expect that at all.

"In all fairness the first time you married him you didn't know. That definitely wasn't your fault," Hermione put things in perspective.

"Yeah, but that second time and staying married to him after I found out, that was mean."

“Selfish maybe, but it wasn't mean. And it happened a long time ago," Hermione shrugged, "Time makes many things seem not a big deal anymore."

"It had to be said."

She had not had a candid conversation with Ginny in a very long time but it was easy to slip into one even though it was clear they weren't friends anymore. Ginny divorced Harry and now, an apology. Mid life crisis or something else?

"Why apologize now? We both know there is no going back to how things were between us and I don't think you're doing this because you want an apology from me. You're not dying yet, are you?"

Ginny laughed, "No, I'm not, although I can see why you'd think that an absolution from you could be the reason. I owe you a proper apology so I'm giving you one."

To be truthful Hermione didn't need one. A part of her did think that Ginny had been apologizing for years, maybe even before Ginny realized she was sorry for what happened. Little things - Ginny asking her to come back to the Ministry to work with Harry, the tolerance of her and Harry's close working relationship then and even Ginny's agreement with Professor Flitwick's proposal to be POTH keeper upon his demise.

Admittedly, on those alone, Hermione had thought Ginny could have had less noble motives. But there was one thing that always made Hermione feel that Ginny was trying to atone for the past. Since Hugo's birth Ginny treated him with a kindness that didn't make sense otherwise.

"You have been very good to Hugo all these years," Hermione had to say it, "I'm grateful."

“You did the same for my children. It was the least I could do.”

There were things that needed to be said plainly and things that didn't need to be spelled out. Ginny apologized; she accepted.

"One last thing," Ginny took out a small black cloth from the top right drawer of her desk and handed it to her, "This belongs to you."

She untied the bow and opened the wrapping. In it was a very familiar piece of jewelry, the sight of it was so unnerving she felt numb all of a sudden. Instinctively she pushed the cloth away from her until it settled at the centre of Ginny's desk between them, the ring with the green stone sitting on it like a big white elephant.

"I don't understand," she looked at Ginny.

"The ring belongs to you," Ginny repeated.

"He gave it to you."

"But he gave it to you first and he meant to give it back," Ginny stated the truth, facts that she would have known only because Harry told her.

Hermione thought Ginny insane, "That may be so but I can't take it."

"Why not?"

"Because I can't."

Ginny said to her plainly, "It'll be wrong for me to keep it."

"Then give it back to him."

"He would never willingly take it from me. And even if I don't give him a choice he won't give it to anyone else, especially not to you," Ginny reasoned, "It was his Mum's. It is yours. It's not just a ring. It stands for something meaningful, something beautiful, at least it used to. I'd rather it not go to waste."

"I wouldn't know what to do with it either. I have no intention of marrying Harry."

Hermione hadn't even decided if she was going to see him.

"It doesn't have to be complicated. He doesn't need to know you have it. When the time comes maybe you can pass it on to Hugo or to his children," Ginny wrapped the ring back into the back cloth, pushed it closer to her side of the desk, "You know I'm right about this. Quit being so stubborn and just take it. Please."

At that point Hermione didn't have a choice. Hermione put the ring away. She would try and figure out the best way to give it back to Harry or, maybe, to Hugo as Ginny suggested. As much as it didn't feel right she understood how Ginny felt - it would be more wrong for her to keep it.

Hermione felt safe enough to say poker-faced, "So, was that it or do you have any more baggage you'd like to leave with me?"

Ginny got the joke, "That's plenty, don't you think?"

"Can I ask you something?" Hermione had a question she was hoping Ginny would address.

“What is it?”

"Harry believes in marriage. I can't picture him walking away from his vows unless you asked him to and didn't give him a choice. Why did you let him go?"

Ginny paused, as if contemplating how best to respond, then said with the complete honesty they had between them many eons ago, "I didn't let him go. A part of me will always love him but it has become increasingly difficult to stay with him when some truths are hard to ignore. I think deep down I've always known it just took me a while to accept. He may have married me but his heart was never mine to begin with. It has always been yours."

A collective relief floated in the air between them, for Ginny because she finally said it out loud and for Hermione because she finally heard Ginny say it. It was a blessing of sorts, one Hermione never expected to come from Ginny, ever.

“Okay, I think I'm finally ready,” Ginny announced, “Try not to erase this last part. I don't want to have to repeat this conversation with you again.”

Hermione lifted her wand.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was late. Well-wishers had left hours ago and Harry was relieved. He was glad to see most of them but there was one particular person he was hoping to see who hadn't come. And after three days of being awake he wondered if she ever would.

One day, he could understand. Two, maybe she was really busy. But three? She was avoiding him, avoiding him even after what he said to her, as if it made no difference.

Or worse, she had three days to figure out ways to tell him why it wouldn't work.

In the two years he held on to the hope that she would survive the Asphyxiatus, he also believed there was no way she would refuse what he was going to ask. He wasn't prepared for rejection but supposed he should take it like any normal adult would. Suck it up and move on.

Harry sat on his bed and perused urgent Ministry documents to keep his mind busy. Hirings, firings, transfers, assignment approvals, a proposal to restructure…

After going through a thick stack, Harry took his glasses off and rubbed his tired eyes. It was way past two a.m. and his Healer would give him heck for staying up so late. He looked up and noticed someone at the door. He was relieved. She finally came.

Hermione had one of those half smiles on that always made his heart flutter. Instantly he forgot how he felt about her not coming sooner.

“I see you survived another one, Potter,” Hermione said to him as she walked over to the right side of the bed.

He smiled back, put away work and made room for her to sit beside him, “You know me, hard to kill.”

“How are you?” she asked as she sat down, facing him.

“A couple of horrible scars but otherwise good,” Harry responded.

Hermione declared, “The reason I quit being an Auror, vanity.”

“And you? Is the poison all gone?”

“Am told that I may need an occasional dose of the antidote to address what they called `sequestered factions' of the poison? It sounded very much like some internal war was raging in me.”

Harry didn't doubt it, “There's always some internal war raging within you.”

“True,” she laughed; it was such a good sight, “It's been three days, you haven't checked yourself out. What gives?”

“I'm trying to set a good example,” he explained, “How's Hugo?”

“Hugo's fine. And yeah, you told me so,” Hermione grew serious, “Harry, thank you, for making sure he'd come back to me. I don't know what I would have done if he hadn't.”

“No need to thank me. He's my son too, remember.”

“Damn it, why do I keep forgetting that?” her tone came off as joking but her eyes said something else, “So, how are you really?”

Harry frowned. Her question struck a nerve.

“Healers say I'm fine, everybody keeps telling me I look better, I'm even working to prove it,” he pointed at the pile of documents on his bedside table, “I should feel fine but I don't. I've been worried. I was out for three weeks and it took you three days to come visit me. You had plenty of time to think about what I said, about us and about what this all means. I had almost given up hope that you would come.”

This was the last thing he wanted to do. He didn't want to tell her how awful it was waiting for her to come so they could talk. Hermione got off the bed, taken aback by his sudden mood change, tried to interrupt, “Harry…”

Harry didn't let her. He had a Hermione-sized rant to get off his chest.

“I was hoping that telling you that I know about your deal with Death would fix everything that's not right between us, that you would finally accept that it wasn't your fault and believe that I wasn't just doing this out of guilt or for atonement or both,” Harry continued, “But it didn't fix things, did it? How could it when that was not the only thing that broke. I see that now.

“But I meant what I said. I've had months to think about it. Don't you think I deserve at least one good reason why you don't want us to try again?”

He looked at her, worked up and anxious, waiting for her reply. By this time Hermione was standing a few feet away, a frown on her face.

Harry held his breath as she spoke, “I don't know what gave you the impression that I don't want us to try again. I couldn't begin to think about us and about what you said until I was sure you would wake up for it to matter, and then when I heard you did, I needed time to sort things out. But I do have plenty of reasons why we shouldn't try again. There's a list.”

“A list?”

“For starters, those ghastly scars,” she motioned as she approached him bedside and sat next to him but closer than before. Harry let go of the breath he had been holding. She then added more seriously, looking deeply into his eyes, touching his very soul, “There are others. It's a very long list. But the reason I took so long was because there's also a list of why we should.”

They looked at each other with the love and affection he had longed to see for so long. There were tears in her eyes, not unhappy ones. He brushed them off gently with the back of his hand and held her one hand with the other.

“Name one,” he wanted to hear her say it.

She said to him softly, “The fact that no matter how hard I try I can't seem to stop loving you.”

He thought out loud with approval, “That's a good one.”

“I think so too.”

Harry wanted her to hear the words as well, “I love you the same way.”

“That was a close number two on my list,” she answered and made her choice official, “I agree; we should try again.“

Harry took her hand up to his face and kissed it, her eyes twinkling with joy. He also saw in them a fleeting doubt, a fear that she would get hurt badly again but that was something only time together could change. His thoughts, in chaos a few minutes ago, settled.

“You agree?” he confirmed.

“Why is that so hard to believe?”

Harry playfully teased, “You tortured me for three days and you actually agree?”

“You know this about me. I'm thorough, I had to sort things out,” she explained, then looking very serious, although he knew she wasn't, she added, “If we are going to do this let's talk terms.”

“I don't like the sound of this,” Harry played along.

“I have two conditions,” she sounded very official.

“Only two?”

“First of all, we're taking this slow, not like before.”

Harry did his best not to laugh.

“I spent two years thinking about this moment and the moments after,” Harry had to come clean, “I can't promise anything. I truly can't.”

“We don't even know if we still like each other,” Hermione reasoned, “Three dates before you try to get me naked, agreed?”

“What if you end up naked on your own, without my intervention?”

“Harry, I may love you but I am not that kind of woman,” she was trying her best to keep a straight face and was failing miserably.

“Make that two dates and you've got a deal.”

It was a lost battle for her and for him. He was already thinking about her without clothes on and her eyes had flitted down to his lips with desire as he spoke. If they weren't on public property he would have caved already. He had to temper his longing to take her into his arms right then and there.

Harry re-focused their conversation, “And what's your other condition?”

She looked at him and said simply, “We're telling family and friends.”

He agreed, “That was one of mine.”

Harry inched in closer. Hermione did the same.

“Do you have more?” she asked, her lips so close he could almost feel them on his.

“A lot more,” he answered, “Let's talk about my terms later.”

“Okay.”

Their lips touched. They kissed a sweet, tender and deep kiss. It tugged at his heart and felt all kinds of right.

And after a while he made more room for her and she slipped into bed with him. They talked about his made up terms and kissed, well, they mostly kissed, until they fell asleep in each others' arms.

XXXXXXXXXXX

The next day…

Hermione was not herself. The day had gone by like a blur and she remembered nothing of consequence except for waking up next to Harry at the hospital and being firmly ushered out by his prison guard of a Healer. She didn't even get a chance to kiss him goodbye.

Admittedly, there was a lot of snogging between them until just before dawn. And yet kissing him again was all she could think about. Not particularly good when you have ten sets of eyes staring at you as you try and convince the leaders of Magical Europe that putting an IMAN somewhere in Spain was a great idea.

“Ms. Granger,” Minister Greengrass interrupted, “You were saying?”

Where was I?

“Yes,” she picked a spot from her presentation that looked vaguely familiar, a map, “As you can see the numbers do not lie. This part of the European Magical Community is underserviced in terms of being education. You see schools here, here and here but the regional population has grown…”

There was a commotion outside the conference room. The Aurors stood at alert as the double doors swung open.

“I'm really sorry to interrupt.”

“Mr. Potter?”

Harry?

“I need Ms. Granger urgently for a life and death matter,” Harry was in civvies, and looked very serious, “Ms. Granger?”

Reflexive maternal instinct surfaced instantly. Did something happen to Hugo?

She excused herself and asked one of her assistants to take over. She followed Harry into one of the smaller conference rooms.

“Is it Hugo?” she asked before he could even shut the door.

Harry turned to her and answered somewhat perplexed, “Hugo's fine. What would make you think he wasn't?”

Hermione felt like she should be upset, “Life and death matter?”

Harry realized, “Oh that. No, nothing like that.”

“So, what is it?”

“All day I've been dying to do this.”

In one motion he pulled her up against him and kissed her thoroughly, his lips warm and moist against hers. She matched his ardor with like passion, her arms coming around his neck to get even closer. After a while they broke their kiss, both breathless. Hermione's heart was pounding against her chest.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“Not quite.”

Harry kissed her again and she couldn't not kiss back. Butterflies in the stomach, mind fogging, body acutely sensitive to his touch…

Knock, knock, knock

That made them jump back.

“Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger,” it was the Minister, “Is everything okay in there?”

Define okay.

“Just another minute!” Harry answered for them.

“I should get back,” she said to him, although it would take more than a minute to alter the just-snogged look she was positive she was wearing at the moment.

Harry said to her as he was leaving, “Dinner, tonight, 7, I'll pick you up.”

“Should I expect any more of these `matter of life and death' visits before then?”

Harry grinned, “I will try to restrain myself but no promises.”

Hermione got back into the conference room, thinking how much Harry's visit actually helped. She wasn't thinking about kissing him anymore, at least not as much.

She would see him again tonight. She couldn't wait.

Dinner at 7; a mere 3 hours away. What was she going to wear?

And Hermione spent the rest of the meeting thinking about that.

Later that night Harry was prompt. At exactly 7pm, the doorbell to Number 12 Grimmauld Place rang. Hermione opened the door and found Harry on her porch, with a bunch of freshly picked dandelions in his hand.

She invited him in and they didn't make it out to dinner that night. The dress didn't matter after all; she didn't wear it for long. She and Harry were mostly undressed by the time they reached their bedroom door.

They made sweet and passionate love on their bed, in their room, at their place, rekindling the complete intimacy of their past with an absolute affirmation of adoration.

She was his forever and he was hers. Eternally linked by a bond that would never break, nothing, not even death, could change that.

Later that night, lying in bed in his arms, her flesh still tingling from their lovemaking, she turned to the man she cherished with all her heart and looked at him. In spite of everything that happened between them she had a good feeling that this time things would work out.

Harry's eyes opened and they looked at each other. In his she saw love and contentment. He would see the same in hers.

After some time, she asked, “What are you thinking?”

He grinned, “I was thinking, it's about time you asked me that question.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“I like that about you. I like the unpredictable part too,” he said with mischief in his eyes, referring to why they didn't make it out to dinner.

“So, what are you thinking?” she asked him again.

Hermione sensed a subtle change. Harry was about to say something serious and she hoped it wasn't what she thought.

“Let's move in together.”

Okay, good, it wasn't what she thought but still.

“Don't you think it's too soon after just one night of this?”

“You know I love you and it's not just about this.”

“You're busy. I'm busy.”

“I know that. We've done this before,” he was quite serious, “I'm not asking you to play house with me. I want to come home to you wherever you are whatever time it is. And if you're not home am perfectly okay with just the thought that you will be coming home to me.”

Harry was very convincing. Coming home to each other, she realized, was what she wanted too. She couldn't say `no' to that.

He kissed her when she said `yes' and took away whatever apprehensions she had about doing it. They decided Grimmauld. While he was no longer owner on paper it would always belong to them.

Thinking about the complicated reality outside their bedroom window didn't bother her as much as she thought it would. It was going to be an interesting journey. With Harry she always had and always would live one day at a time.

They made love again and again until they couldn't anymore. It was morning, the start of a new day, a new beginning. As sunrise peeked through the window, he held her with absolute affection and stilled her heart. She was at peace.

XXXXXXXXX

A/N. Am dying to hear how this was for you.

Lots of people to thank. I know I will miss someone if I try and attempt to mention all those who propped me up in times of doubt and never gave up on this story. Thank you so much for the reviews and the PMs.

I do want to acknowledge Books and Cleverness for keeping in touch during my `dark ages' - if not for you I wouldn't have finished. I am eternally grateful.

Epilogue…a definite maybe?

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74. Epilogue

A/N.

I am blown away by all your comments and reviews. They made me write like a madwoman these past two weeks. If not for your encouragement, your support and your suggestions, the Epilogue you are reading today would not have been created.

To all of you who have written reviews on the Keeper or on my other stories, know this. You have played a big part in how the story has turned out. I am grateful to you all for helping me create it.

I will beg forgiveness from literary experts. This is not a typical epilogue. It is not from one point of view and not a short summary. Brevity was never a skill of mine . Also, there was a revolt of character voices in my head. They wanted to tell their own stories. They held my mind hostage with their plotlines and scenes it was distracting my real life so much that I caved and have written their stories as requested. Mostly it was Lily - I don't think she trusts Hermione! Considering the many English words I've murdered, idiomatic expressions I have mixed up and grammatical errors I've committed I hope not adhering to Epilogue rules is a small thing.

Here's your list of what you wanted to see addressed in the Epilogue:

1. Will Harry and Hermione have another child?

2. What will Hermione do with the engagement ring?

3. Will Hugo get over his crush on Isa?

4. Will Lily ever forgive Harry?

I may have missed some so let me know.

xxxxxxxx

Epilogue

September 2022 - Hermione, 43 - 1 year later

“It's not funny,” I tell Harry.

He is trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

We are lying in bed facing each other, mostly undressed. We just had amazing angry sex. Well, I was angry. He was mostly clueless about what I was, and kind of still am, angry about.

He kisses me and then insults me, “You are insane and I love you.”

“Harry,” I admonish, “I'm 43 years old. I'm too old for this!”

“Apparently not,” he snorts.

“I'm serious!”

“Let me get this straight,” he lays it out for us, “You're angry at me because we're pregnant.”

“Well,” I stall as I try and remember what logic got me to this reaction, “Why is it that I only ever get unplanned pregnancies with you? Why can't your bloody sperms be disciplined enough to stay away from my eggs?”

He laughs, again, “Should I answer that or was that a rhetorical question?”

“You are amused by this.”

“Very. You have the most unusual reactions to finding out you're pregnant. Did you know that?”

“What do you mean?”

“The first time I got you pregnant you thought it could be the end of us so you completely took advantage of me by climbing into bed, freshly showered and totally naked. Hmmm…that was actually nice…”

I sigh as I remember, “That was really nice.”

“The second time I got you pregnant you decided not to tell me at all,” he said plainly, meaning nothing of it, “Enough said about how loopy that reaction was.”

“Again, I'm sorry about that.”

“Long forgiven, moving on. And now this, angry sex because you're blaming me for the fact that your eggs are so bloody attractive my swimmers are unable to resist.”

I am deflated. Logic does get affected by hormones during pregnancy. This is going to be a frustrating eight more months.

I bounce back with another lame counter, “If you put it that way then you should be angry at me and my eggs too.”

“I love you. I'm happy and excited we're pregnant. And you're not really angry,” he pauses and peers at me through his warm, understanding eyes.

He knows me better than I know myself.

“No, I'm not,” I cave. “I'm actually happy and excited too. But also very afraid. What if I mess up?”

“You did very well with Rose and Hugo,” he points out.

“That's debatable,” I think of all the times I screwed up.

“Stop the self doubt, you're a great parent, your kids turned out okay,” Harry sets me straight, “And this time I'm around and we can raise our son or daughter together right from the very beginning. We've never done that. I'd love to raise a child with you, Hermione. I think we'll be awesome.”

Awesome? Really? I gaze deeply into his green eyes and loose myself in his joy and excitement. Dammit, why is he so convincing? Or is that the hormones too?

“Okay, if you say so,” I concede, then threaten in half-jest, “But Potter, I will remember this conversation when our son or daughter needs diaper changing every two hours.”

He just laughs, “Come over here you crazy woman.”

Harry pulls me in closer and kisses me longingly until my neurotic mind is emptied completely and I am breathless. As we break apart I see that he is filled with love and bliss. The past year was tough on us but we stood by each other and withered the storm together. Hard to imagine but there is more `us' now than there ever was before. And we are going to have a baby.

“I love you, Hermione,” he says.

I reply, “And I love you, Harry.”

We kiss again.

He holds me close. I let him and I just take in the moment. I sense he is brooding about something.

“What are you thinking?” I ask.

“Marriage,” he mentions then makes sure I don't misunderstand, “Don't worry, I'm not asking you to marry me.”

I tease, “But what of honour? You got me pregnant. Is there no chivalry in this world anymore?”

He chuckles, “If I ask you to marry me, what would you say?”

“You mean hypothetically?”

“Yes, hypothetically.”

“Hypothetically I would ask why.”

“Hypothetically I would answer `because I want to be your husband and I want you to be my wife'.”

“And how would that be different from how we are to each other now? You know I love you and I know you love me. We are committed to each other whether a piece of paper says so or not.”

“I don't care about the piece of paper or the vows which I know we would never break,” we are not talking hypothetical now, “Maybe I'm just old fashioned or being a sentimental fool. This is going to sound awful in a possessive and even backwards kind of way.”

“Spill it, Harry.”

He is still hesitating, “I love you and I've loved you for a long time. I have this image of me one day being able to call you Mrs. Potter.”

I reflexively moved away from him.

“Oh wow,” I say, taking a deep breath in and out, “Well, I didn't expect that to hurt.”

“I'm sorry,” he is concerned, of course he didn't mean for it to sting, “What is it?”

“We have a problem, Harry,” I say honestly, “In my mind Mrs. Potter will always be Ginny.”

He now understands, “I can see how that can be a problem.”

“I'm sorry,” I say.

“Me too.”

He's hurt and he's trying to put up a brave face so I won't know how much I hurt him.

“Did I just, hypothetically, decline a marriage proposal?”

“Hypothetically, I think you did.”

I can't bear to see him like this. I now wish I can take back what I said and just be okay with what he wants. I am sure I can hide my aversion to being called that name. Maybe it's just too soon. Maybe it won't sting as much over time.

Of course, it won't be just him referring to me as `Mrs. Potter'. All the people I work with and deal with will too. And I almost forget. I'd have to introduce myself as that. Just thinking about it is making me twitch.

Who am I kidding? I can't do this. The old younger me would have sucked it up but the older me won't take the abuse. Then I just thought of something that can potentially make him feel better and avoid future disastrous proposals, hypothetical or not. As long as my hormones don't make a mess of this.

“Don't go away,” I say to him.

I put a robe on and leave him for a bit to fetch something. When I come back he is still in bed but sitting up, wondering what I am up to. I smile and cuddle up to him, sitting on his lap so I can face him and be close. I show him what I have in my hand, peel off the black cloth and hold up our engagement ring.

“Did you have to steal it or did she give it back to you?”

He is joking, it makes me smile.

“She mentioned you intended to give it to me so I should have it and that I should keep it because of what it stands for,” I explain.

“And you accepted.”

He finds this surprising.

“You know Ginny. She can be very convincing.”

After a while he cannot wait anymore and says, “So, are we just going to stare at it, or are you waiting for me to say something?”

He reaches for the ring and I slap his wrist.

“Don't you touch it and you are not saying anything,” I say firmly, “This ring is like magic in your hands. Merlin only knows what I'll agree to if you get your hands on it.”

He laughs and jokes lightheartedly, “You're taking too long. The suspense is killing me.”

I steel myself to be serious and gaze into his green eyes, meaning every word I say, “Harry Potter, I love you. I may not want to marry you now but if there is anyone in this world who can make me change my mind about marriage it is you. I don't know when that day will come but you have made me change my mind about many things so I know it eventually will.

“Until then, I think you've proposed to me enough times so I'll make you a deal. I don't want you to hurt and be disappointed about this each time you ask and I say `no'. Eventually, you'll either stop asking or I will say `yes' just to put you out of your misery. We wouldn't want that to happen. What I'm saying is, if you are willing to wait, I'll propose to you when I'm ready.”

It is a compromise but I'm confident it will work out. I have a lifetime to get rid of that baggage. He is looking at me warmly as if I just said something amazing.

“So, are we good?” I ask.

He nods, “We're good.”

We lean in and kiss, then I wrap the cloth around the ring and set it on our bedside table. I was anxious about what I was going to do with it and now that he knows I have it it's not going to burn a hole in my pocket, at least not for a while.

I note how different this conversation could have gone when we were younger. It never ceases to amaze me how, compared to our old selves, we're the same and we're different at the same time.

We slip back down into bed. He holds me in his arms and kisses my hair.

“Good night,” he whispers.

“Good night,” I whisper back.

We fall asleep.

XXXXXXXXXX

May 2023 - Harry, 42 - 8 months later

We came home a week ago from St. Agnes. I'm sleep deprived but I don't feel tired at all.

I am holding Emily in my arms. To me she looks just like her mum. She is sleeping soundly and I find that watching her so peaceful like this has a profound calming effect on me.

Out of the blue I remember Lily. I remember feeling the same way when she was born. She was so tiny, just like Emily. An overwhelming heartache hits me. I miss her terribly. Her smile, her voice, her hugs, and the way she used to look at me. I miss my Lily.

Hermione takes Emily and sets her down on her crib. Then she comes over and holds me in her arms. She says nothing and just holds me. She knows and understands why there are tears in my eyes.

XXXXXXXXXX

May 2026 - 3 years later

Al, 20

“Potter! My office! And bring your unfortunate partner with you!”

It's my first month on the job and already I get called into my supervisor's office. The most troubling part is I don't exactly know what I did wrong.

My partner, Kurt McGuire, shrugs. He knows nothing. We make our way to the office. People are watching me do the walk of shame.

I go in first. Ted Lupin meets me with a glare, his hair fiery red as it has been known to be with he is mad. Why do I find this more dreadful than that duel against the murderer earlier this week?

“Sit down! Better yet, don't! You're going to want to hear this standing up!”

Am I getting fired? But I aced Auror training. Surely I would be given more than a month to prove myself. Geez, and he doesn't even bother shutting the door. Half the entire Auror team is gathering just outside his office.

Ted, er, Auror Lupin points at the huge stack of case files on his desk.

“Do you know what that is?”

“Er, um,” I stammer, looking for an intelligent answer or at least an answer that isn't completely wrong.

“Kurt, help the rookie out!”

“Looks like the case files we closed out since we partnered up,” Kurt answers nonchalantly, not intimidated by our boss' tone.

“Exactly! Twenty-two, you have twenty-two tags in your first month as an Auror! Do you know what that means Potter?”

“That I have to close out more?”

“Wrong! That's two more than what your father closed out his first month,” Auror Lupin is grinning, his hair now bright yellow, “Congratulations, Potter. You now hold the record and bragging rights over your old man. I guess we should keep you.”

I breathe a sigh of relief. I hear laughter and applause, Auror Lupin is shaking my hand.

“Now get out of here. Don't you have to look pretty for this wedding you have to go to?”

Right, the wedding and the other thing after. I can't be late for that. I make my way out of the Ministry grinning like an idiot. I am still in disbelief that I beat my Dad's record. I didn't even know they kept records like that.

I get to my flat a few blocks away, the one I share with my brother. I don my tux and grab the small box from my side table. No surprise I find Hugo in his room not quite dressed. He is pouring over a thick book, I gather a test of some sort. I've lived with him for two years and this, eating and crapping is all he does. I don't know how my brother can stand the constant torture that is the Healers Academy of London.

While he is technically two years younger than me, Isa and Spencer, Hugo took and aced the equivalency tests and graduated the same year we did. He, as he always planned to since Malvado, went into a healing program while I signed up for Auror training.

Isa applied for work as an Unspeakable for a few Ministries and to our delight got multiple offers. She decided to accept the London MOM job so we could be together.

Rose was undecided at graduation but has completed two degrees in as many years, one in management because she said she liked telling people what to do, and the other in education because she fell in love with her Management course teacher and wanted to impress him. Rose passed both with flying colors in spite of hard partying; I don't know how she did it. And now she's on her third degree. It escapes me what it is.

Spencer barely graduated but in their last year developed a social conscience. Last they heard he had joined the Werewolf and Vampire Alliance, an organization aiming to eliminate prejudice against vampires and werewolves.

“We're going to be late,” I try to rush Hugo.

He barely lifts his eyes off the page as he replies, his voice robotic like a recording, “We've got plenty of time.”

“No we don't.”

I take the book away from him, slam it shut and toss it on his desk.

“Hey!” my kid brother protests, “I was reading that. I have orals tomorrow.”

“I have something more important tonight. I got to ask you before we go.”

I ignore his unconcerned reaction because I need his opinion desperately. It's not the first time I've reached out to him about this particular subject matter.

I open the box in front of him. He stares at it for what seems like an eternity. Finally I can't wait any longer.

“Well, what do you think?”

He looks me straight in the eye and answers, “Al, we're brothers. I love you but I can't marry you. And besides, the ring won't fit my finger.”

“Prat!”

Hugo is grinning. He is so like Rose sometimes I don't know why that surprises me. He is up on his feet and starts undressing.

“What do you think?” I ask again.

“What do you mean?” he turns his back to me as he changes into his tux.

There's lots I want to know, “Is the ring beautiful, is the stone big enough, will she like it, will it fit her, will she say…”

He interrupts me, “And how would I know that?”

“Because you know Isa better than I do,” I tell him the truth.

Hugo retorts, “That's debatable. The walls are thin, Al. It's amazing I get any studying done whenever you have her over. And would it kill you two to use the Impertubatus spell?”

“That's not what I mean. Please. Help me out here. I'm nervous and I don't want to crash and burn the first time I ask Isa to marry me. I mean I only want to ask her once and for her to say `yes'. Do you think she'll say `yes'?”

Hugo lets a gigantic sigh out and sits in front of me. He is thinking about the question seriously now.

“Really, I don't know,” Hugo replies honestly, and plays devil's advocate, “She'll think you're being impulsive what with the wedding and all. And aren't you two a bit too young?”

“Maybe twenty is too young but we've known each other for five years and we've seen each other constantly for the last two. We both have good jobs at the Ministry. She's it for me, Hugo. I know it and I feel it,” I share, “I just don't know if I'm it for her too.”

His brother tells him, “I've seen how she looks at you. She loves you, Al. And you're a great guy. Only a fool would say `no' to you. Isa is not a fool.”

I get up and hug my brother.

“That's settled then,” I am set, “I will ask her tonight. But first, the wedding.”

-----------

Lily, 18

The wedding is over but there is still the reception. As the night goes on I find it increasing difficult to pretend I believe in what we are celebrating. Weddings are a fairy tale. Marriage is reality and there is no such thing as happily ever after.

In spite of what I believe I am here because it is my Mum's wedding and I am being supportive. I like Lance Elliot; he adores my Mum and most of all he makes my Mum happy. I am happy that Mum is happy.

Most of the conversations I have tonight I feel I'm not really a part of.

“You look beautiful tonight, Lily, just like your mother. You'll make a beautiful bride someday.”

“Congratulations, Lily. I hear you've been accepted to the HeAL. I'm sure you'll be as brilliant as your brother Hugo.”

“That brother of yours James is going to be the best Chaser the game has ever known!”

“Did you hear? Al beat your Dad's case completion record!”

“I wanted to speak to your father about a matter of grave importance. Is he around?”

Yes. I saw Dad earlier with Aunt Hermione. We spoke briefly and I found an excuse to be somewhere else like I always have since I found out about the affair.

It has been almost five years and still I cannot talk to him, at least not in the way I used to. And it's really difficult to explain how I feel about him. Sometimes it's anger, sometimes it's sadness, sometimes it's disappointment, but there is always pain. And I go somewhere else when I feel the pain. I'm too proud to let him see how much I hurt.

After the divorce Mum and Dad sent me to talk with a professional. The shrink was an exercise in futility but I dealt with it the best way I knew how. I told the witch what she wanted to hear so they could stop wasting my time and their money. I'm not the way I am because of the divorce. I am the way I am because of what I know about my family and no amount of talking would make me feel better about the truth.

I remember vividly how I found out. Mum. She was trying desperately to make me understand why Dad had an affair while she was pregnant with me so I could forgive him. She explained how Dad and Aunt Hermione were lovers from before they got married, how Dad tried to save Aunt Hermione then lost his memory of them, how they had the affair when he remembered years later. She mentioned how she found this out months into their marriage, before James was born, and how it was her fault she did not let Dad know then. And Dad never knew about me until after the affair was over.

So here's the truth. My brothers and I exist only because my Dad lost a memory. We were not the family he wanted but the family he got stuck with.

In fairness to Mum she really wanted me to forgive Dad. She did not tell it to me this way but it is what I gleaned from what she said. And in spite Mum's vehemence that she wanted the divorce, frankly what choice did she have knowing that Dad wanted to be with someone else? I don't blame her for hanging on the false notion that she had a choice.

And Dad wants everyone to be okay with it; to accept everything and to move on. Mum is okay with it; she divorced him and married again. James and Al are okay with it, they see Dad frequently.

In a way I am okay with it, just not in the way that he wants me to be okay. I am not bending over backwards so he can be at peace with his decision. Why does he get everything he wants when he didn't want us in the first place? And if he did not want me then why am I here? Why do I exist?

I'm 18. I used to know who I am but I don't anymore. I'm not even sure who I want to be. All I know is who I don't want to be. I don't want to be Lily Potter, daughter of Harry and Ginny Potter, sister of James the Chaser, sister of Al the Auror, sister of Hugo the Healer, sister of Emily the Cute and Adorable. I want to be someone else and there is only one way I can do that.

“New York,” Al finds me in the shadows; he always looks for me, “Really?”

“Mum told you.”

“To talk some sense into you,” Al was always the level headed one but a bit of an alarmist when it comes to my safety, “Do you have any idea how dangerous New York is to an 18-year-old girl like you?”

I let the `girl' reference pass. I have resigned myself to the fact that both James and Al will always look at me as a little girl.

“I'm going there to study, in a reputable Healer Academy, in a reasonably good part of town. Not walk the streets in high crime neighborhoods,” I reason.

“Why so far away? Why not stay here? You got accepted into HeAL. Hugo can help you and you can work at St. Mungo's together.”

For an Auror, Al can be so naïve sometimes. Or maybe this is him being him and trying to fix the many broken things in our family.

I tell him honestly because I know he can take it and he is really the only one I talk to this way, “There are too many Potters in this town. I get so confused.”

“Lil,” he calls me a name that my Dad used to call me, “Mum's married and happy. Everybody has moved on but you. And it hurts me to see you and Dad hurting this way. Don't you think it's about time you forgave him?”

“I have moved on,” I answer truthfully, “I've just done so without the forgiving part.”

He embraces me and I let the pain of the truth linger. In some way I am thankful that I still feel pain. At least I know a part of me still cares.

Al asks, “I take it there is nothing I can tell you to convince you to stay?”

I hug him tight and say, “I'll miss you, Al. Come visit me often?”

“Of course.”

The next day, Mum and Lance are off to their honeymoon. I pack my bags and take a long look at the Pitch. Rivers of tears run down my face as I leave for New York.

XXXXXXXXXX

July 2028 - 2 years later

Hugo, 20

I am back in London after being away for six months. Al said it was okay to crash in my old room at his flat so I can be more presentable for Dad's birthday gathering at Grimmauld in a few hours.

The trip back was exhausting. Civil unrest in many parts of Africa has made International Floo travel tricky and longer than usual. I toss my pack into my room and jump in the shower. The warm clean water and soap feels so good. After living in remote villages in Central Africa without the amenities of modern civilization, this is a piece of heaven. I contemplate changing my decision to sign up for another six months with the Healers Without Limits.

After I shower I look at myself in the mirror. I lost a bit of weight and I need to shave. Mum's going to fuss but I'm too tired and while I can make myself heavier and make the facial hair disappear I see no point as she will find out. That and I do miss her fussing.

I mindlessly go into my room only to realize I don't have clothes. I lost my other bag in the Floo network. Without a second thought, I walk across the hall into Al's, grab a shirt and some track pants, consciously foregoing underwear. We're brothers and we've gotten close but I draw the line.

My room seems a million miles from where I am now so I take the couch. It's lights out the second my head hits the cushion.

I open my eyes some hours later. It is dark except for soft light coming through the window and I am holding a woman in my arms. In the past two years I have held many forgettable and faceless women in my arms this way but today is different. This woman isn't faceless. It is Isa. I know because I will always remember this scent of her everywhere I go. She is still, likely asleep, her head on my chest, her body warm alongside mine and her arms wrapped around me.

At first I think that I am dreaming. After all I have dreamt of this moment many times. But it is not a dream. It is very real and, judging from the undisciplined part of me in Al's pants, it is likely to become more real if I don't wake her up. She obviously saw the clothes and thought I was Al.

I move and she stirs.

“Hey, can we be a bit late for dinner?” she says in that voice I've only ever heard her use with Al.

As I try and sit up I feel her soft lips on my mine.

I am torn. On the one hand I want to kiss her back tenderly. On the other hand, I want to kiss her back like I've never kissed any woman in my life before. I know; neither is appropriate.

“Isa, stop,” I say, groaning internally, “It's me, Hugo.”

She is off me in less than a blink of an eye, look of horror on her face. Somehow lights have turned on. I would take a mental picture of her reaction if not for the momentary blindness I am experiencing from the bright lights. I shield my eyes with my hand and blink it off.

“Hugo? What are you doing here?”

“I'm home for Dad's birthday,” I explain, now up, eyes adjusted and seated. “Needed to get some rest before I go through Granger inspection.”

“Listen,” she has one thought on her mind, “I'm sorry. I thought you were er, um…”

“…Al,” I finish for her, “My fault. Lost all clothes in transit. Borrowed some of his.”

“Can we, er…um…”

I do it again, “…forget about the kiss. What kiss? Never happened.”

I breathe. I am replaying in my head thoughts of her soft, sweet lips on mine. I regret not kissing her back but I'm also relieved that I didn't. Normally when I get back into town we would hug but considering what she just did I am not about to ask her for one.

“Where's Al?” I ask.

Yup, talking about my brother, her fiancé, will certainly kill impure thoughts quickly.

“You know, the usual, looking for Dark Wizards, saving the world,” Isa has canned answers to questions regarding Al's whereabouts because she usually did not know, “So, how are you?”

She sits beside me on the couch. She looks a bit different. Her hair is a bit longer.

“Tired but good. And you?”

“The same,” I hear her words, although I sense something off.

She hurries our conversation along, “Did you find answers?”

“Answers?”

“You know, about your ability to morph into a phoenix and your ability to heal?”

“Oh that. No luck yet,” I admit, “I signed up for another six months in South America. Maybe I'll find more knowledgeable traditional healers there.”

“Hugo, you didn't,” Isa expressed dissatisfaction.

“What?”

“You're not staying? The gang misses you. Your sisters miss you. I miss you.”

She misses me?

“I can't stay. I don't have work here. I don't want to mooch off Al and you.”

“And that's your lame excuse? St. Mungo's would be lucky to have you. I could even slip your name in the employee files and you won't have to go through an interview,” she can do this, “How much money do you want to make?”

I look at her with disapproval. Her three years as an Unspeakable have only encouraged her to bend and break more rules.

“I'm kidding,” she takes it back.

I can't help but notice her ring, “Have you set a date for the wedding yet?”

“Not yet.”

It has been two years since Al asked the question, two years since she said `yes'. I don't know what's taking them so long. Some days, like today, I wish they would marry already and then there are some days I wish they wouldn't marry at all. Whatever it is, I know it has nothing to do with Al.

“What's the hold up?” I enquire.

“What's the rush?” she punts back.

I suggest the most obvious, “Starting a family. Kids.”

“Sure. Kids being raised by kids.”

“A house in the burbs.”

“And the chains of mortgage.”

“A lifelong commitment with the man you love.”

“Until you don't love each other anymore and you divorce.”

I frown, “Since when did you become a cynic?”

“My father cheated on my mum and left us,” she says what I should already know, “I've always been a cynic.”

I frown even more, “Isa, you're engaged. That means you agreed to get married.”

“Oh, is that what it means? Of course, I know what it means! Do I look like I don't know what it means?!”

“Then why did you agree?”

“Because I was young and in love,” she explains, in the past tense perhaps not meaning to, “Not that you'd know but love makes you do very very stupid things.”

You have no idea.

I feel obligated as Al's brother to say the truth about him, “Al loves you. He's a good guy. He will keep his word. I can't think of anyone better who can disprove your cynicism about marriage.”

“I think it's why I haven't broken it off. That and I don't want to hurt his feelings,” Isa calms down, we're quiet for a while, then she breaks it with a loaded question, “Hugo, am I being selfish?”

“What do you mean?”

“Holding on to him and wearing this ring even though I don't believe in what he believes in. He's good and he's kind and he deserves a girl who does,” she is agonizing, “I can't help but think there is someone else out there for him.”

I sense where she is going with this and I can't let her, at least not without giving Al a chance to make a choice.

“It's not selfishness, Isa. It's hope. It's hope that you are wrong; hope that things won't get worse, that they at least stay the same or get better, and that there is such a thing as happily ever after. And you're losing hope,” I speak of it with certainty because I feel the same way, “You can hope alone but it's hard. It's so much better if you hope with someone else.”

“I have to tell Al, don't I? So we can hope together?”

“It's either that or carry on with this neurotic insanity you've got going here,” I joke.

That makes her laugh.

“How long has this been going on?”

“A few months.”

I think of her dealing with this on her own and I feel I let her down by not being around.

“Did you at least talk with Rose?”

She winces, “Not really. She hooked up and broke up with three boyfriends in the past six months. She has been in and out of her men-are-bastards phase. Timing has been challenging.”

“I see,” I do; my sister and her intense, short lived relationships.

“Do you think he'll understand that giving him back the ring doesn't mean I don't love him?”

“I really don't know,” I am honest.

I sense someone else in the room. It is Al. I don't know how long he has been standing in the shadows but it is long enough. And I can't see his face to gauge how he is about to react.

“It's a good thing I'm here,” his tone is chilly, “You can ask me yourself.”

I remember saying `hello' to Al and leaving them because they had to talk. Still with no clothes and really nothing appropriate to wear to dinner, I decide to drop by a store on my way to Grimmauld.

The second I step into the foyer my five year old sister is running towards me.

“Hughie!” she almost knocks me over with her giant sized hug, “You're home!”

“Hi Em,” I greet her as I grin from ear to ear, “Got you a present.”

“Thank you! She's beautiful!”

She hugs it. It's a doll. She likes all dolls. She is so easy going and not hard to please.

“Come on. Everybody is waiting for you.”

Emily is dragging me by the hand. We reach the dining room and I see all lit up faces. My Mum, my Dad, Rose and even James. They are happy to see me. I am happy to be home.

XXXXXXXXX

January 2033, 5 years later

Lily, 25

There is a sound of knocking on the door.

“Housekeeping!”

I bolt up from deep sleep, instinctively bringing sheets up against my chest. I am naked. I scan the hotel room for my clothes. The naked man in bed with me is up too.

“Go away!” he shouts towards the source of what woke us up.

Typical rude American. At least the blond scares the hotel staff off. He finds my underwear and hands them over.

I see a clock. I am late for work. I quickly send word to Priscilla to start without me. I trust her and I don't like keeping my patients waiting.

We are lost in our own worlds trying to find our clothes and putting them back on. Luckily the man feels no need to talk. No eye contact, no idle chit chat. I prefer things the same.

This situation doesn't usually happen to me. Majority of times I am out of the room before sunrise while they are still asleep so I can skip the awkward goodbyes the morning after. It's just that last night was a bit intense.

Clothes, shoes, purse, I'm good to go.

I reach the door at the same time he does. I get to the knob first but as I pull he pushes the door back shut. I look up, annoyed. I am not prepared to see what I see. His blue eyes are dark and full of desire.

The next thing I know he has me pinned against the door and his mouth is crushing mine. My body instantly betrays me. It responds with the same untamable yearning it did a mere few hours ago. I am kissing him back.

My purse drops, the shoes come off and eventually we are undressed again.

I don't know who this man is. I just met him last night and it pisses me off that he has this effect on me.

After torrid sex we lie in bed both satisfied and breathless.

He speaks, “Do you ever regret it?”

“Regret what?”

“Not knowing each others' names; not exchanging phone numbers.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I'm not looking for complicated.”

“Was that why you accepted my proposition last night? Because I didn't look complicated?”

It's the most words we've exchanged since entering the bedroom. He is actually older than I first thought he was. He looks my age but there is more wisdom in his voice, maybe mid to late 30s or even early 40s. I don't know why I answer but I sense it's simpler to do so than ignore it.

“You turned down three other girls before you asked me, girls who obviously were looking for complicated. I accepted because you want the same thing I do.”

He is amused, “You presume too much. Maybe I turned down the girls because they weren't my type.”

Awkward morning after conversation. It is my cue to leave. I get dressed again and he doesn't say anything else. I feel him watching me and I try my best to ignore him.

Just as I am about to reach the exit he says to me.

“Four weeks,” I stop when I should just get going, again not sure why, “If you change your mind about what you want, four weeks from today I will wait for you until midnight, at the same place we met.”

I leave thinking nothing of it.

The next three weeks I bury myself in work like I always do. Or maybe a bit more than usual. Even Priscilla, my very competent trainee Healer who never complains, tells me to ease up.

But there are many patients waiting to be seen. The New York City Witch and Wizard Hospital is a non-profit, publicly funded facility. I chose to work here because of the underprivileged community it was built to serve.

I start thinking about seeing him again four days before the date he set. It is triggered by a phone call from Al. He calls me a few times a month as does Mum, and James to a lesser extent. He updates me on the happenings on his side of the pond.

Al was recently promoted to Team Lead. Like me he works very long hours and I've heard he's really good at what he does. He hasn't been the same since he and Isa broke off their engagement and while I liked Isa I think he needed that dose of painful reality. At least he's not trying to fix anything anymore.

James is having another great Quidditch season for the London team. He and Therese married last year and are expecting any moment now. I plan to go home to see my nephew when he comes.

Mum is happy, still writing her column for the Prophet and helping Lance run it.

Emily. She's almost ten years old now. Whenever Al mentions my sister I of course remember my dad. I can't believe I've spent almost half my lifetime not speaking with my father.

Thinking about family and how messy things have been and can be, I chose to stay in New York away from it all. My life here is simple; not complicated at all. I am perfectly capable of spending the next half of my life living this way but is this what I really want?

I go to the pub that night he said he would come. It is 11:30 and the man is waiting at the bar. I go and sit on the stool beside him. He doesn't turn.

He asks me just as the barkeeper arrives, “Do you want a drink before we go?”

I tell the barkeeper to get me what he's having. It looks strong and I need it.

Then as the server leaves I say to him just to be clear, “Nothing has changed. I still don't want complicated.”

He responds sagely, “I don't think anybody does. But we don't always get what we want.”

He tips his head back and downs the rest of his drink. I laugh to myself when I realize, he would have been more relieved had I not shown up just as I would have been had I decided not to come. This is going to be a train wreck.

When my drink comes I drink it the way he did. It burns a path straight down my throat. He pays for it, we get up and walk to the nearby hotel. We get a room and we are in the elevator, alone.

The second the elevator doors close something ignites between us. He takes me in his arms and we are kissing each other passionately. I feel the intensity of what he is trying to draw from me and I am taking as much as I can from him. It is clear that we need something from each other, something more primal than the obvious physical undertaking we are about to engage in. But we are both empty and there is nothing to take.

I hear the elevator doors open and he lifts me and carries me effortlessly. I don't know or care how he gets me into our room and into bed.

He breaks off our kiss abruptly and we are breathing hard.

“Damian,” he introduces himself, “My name is Damian.”

“Lily,” I respond.

He looks at me, deeply into my eyes. I do the same and I see what he sees. Desire and something else. A hopelessness that things are going to remain the same. We are both tortured souls. I don't want complicated and neither does he.

And this is what we do three more times over the next month. We meet at the pub, we go to the hotel, and have sex until we're exhausted. One of us leaves before the other awakens to avoid the awkward talk. The truth of the matter is this arrangement suits me. I have the physical perks of having a boyfriend but none of the emotional baggage of a traditional one.

But this morning things are different. I wake up wrapped in his arms, his warm body is against mine. He is awake. I feel him kiss my hair with a tenderness I have not experienced from anyone before. And I find myself not wanting to leave. I fall asleep feeling this way.

The next moment I open my eyes he is beside me lying on his side fully clothed, watching me from a very close distance. Why is he still here?

“Good morning,” he says.

“Good morning,” I reply.

“I'm hungry. There's a diner a couple of blocks from here. They make a mean eggs benedict. Would you like to join me for breakfast?” he invites and waits for my response.

Damian is breaking status quo. He's hoping I will do the same.

I bravely meet his gaze and I see how he looks at me. There is more hope in his eyes than before and he is giving some to me. I am so empty I naturally take what I can.

I answer, “I'm not a breakfast person. Do they have tea?”

------------

Rose, 27

I have a hot date. I have been single and I have not had a hot date in three years. Tonight I will finally have one.

No, I did not join a nunnery. I have been focused on my first real career. I am teaching at the London IMAN of Higher Learning.

I have been at the job for four years and I think I'm pretty good at it. The students actually learn something from me and they like me. It's a lot of work but I love my job. Who knew that the ten degrees and diplomas I've accumulated in the last nine years would actually be useful. It still amuses me when somebody refers to me as “Professor Weasley.” And Al's dumbfounded reaction to my title is also priceless.

There is the school and I am also heavily volunteering time at the magical being community centre across town. I blame Al and my Mum's genes. Al took me there once to show me the deplorable conditions currently plaguing being populations and I, being my Mum's daughter, developed this unwavering compulsion to help make things better.

History is repeating itself. Certain groups are being marginalized and unfairly cast as savages and there is rampant discrimination against vampires and werewolves. There has been fighting within being groups with militant factions seeking immediate reforms. I volunteer to engage the at-risk youth in something more positive.

But enough about that. Tonight I am not teaching, I am not grading papers, I am not saving some young vampire from being recruited into becoming a turner. I have a hot date and I really like him.

I am getting ready when there is a knock at my door. Adam is a bit early.

“Just a minute!” I whip up my wand to put on some finishing touches on my appearance and open the door with the best smile in my vast arsenal of facial expressions, “Hi.”

“Hi.”

I lose the smile, deflated, “Oh, it's only you. What do you want?”

Al responds, “Is Isa here?”

“Nope,” I swing the door shut, hoping he will go away, but the Auror is quick with his foot, he prevents it from shutting. I snap at him, “What?”

“Can I come in?” he asks.

“Al, now is not the time to talk about your girl problems,” I say, it's a running private joke though most times now it's true.

I turn and walk away. He follows me into the living room.

“Going on a date?” he states the obvious.

I roll my eyes and then as I turn I see my reflection on the mirror. I need a matching sweater and head for my bedroom. Al comes too and sits on my bed as I rummage through my closet, purposely throwing stuff in his direction. He tortures me, I torture him. This is how we love each other.

“I need to talk,” Al is anxious.

I carry on with my hunt for a smashing red sweater.

“Don't you have access to shrinks in your line of work?”

“It's about Isa,” at least he is uncomfortable, “I want her back.”

This may be the first time he is admitting this but it is old news to me. Even in my busyness, I see his feeble attempts at getting her back. Thankfully they have been so feeble Isa hasn't noticed, yet. Have to nip this in the bud. I love Al and I don't want him hurt.

“It's a bad idea,” I shake my head, as I toss each lame sweater I see, “You broke up with her five years ago. In general, dumpers don't get the dumpees back, no matter how much they beg.”

“I know. But five years ago I was immature, angry and wrong,” Al is sounding like a woman and I have no time for this, “I've seen what's out there. There is no one else. She is it for me and I need your help to get her back.”

I discourage him, “Get over it, Al. She's not interested.”

“How do you know?”

“She has a boyfriend.”

“She broke up with Russ.”

This must be recent, not that I care. I didn't like Russ.

“She's still not interested,” I reiterate, “Will you stop bugging me?”

Al is quiet now. This means he feels bad and goes into himself. It's not a pretty sight. Now I have to comfort him. And my hot date is coming soon. This requires a discreet tactical maneuver that will be beneficial to us both.

“Look, you want her back but you are asking the wrong person. Once I dump mine, I never want them back so I have no experience to share with you,” I logically point out to him, “But I know someone who knows how to get someone back. Go talk to Uncle Harry.”

“You're right. Dad would know what to do.”

“Yup,” I say as I usher him out the front door.

That wasn't too hard. Forget the sweater, showing cleavage is better. I barely take two seconds checking myself in the mirror when the door swings open. It is my flat mate, Isa.

She asks, “I just saw Al. What did he want?”

I shrug, “The usual, girl problem.”

Isa is uncharacteristically anxious, as she paces the living room, “I need your help.”

I try to ignore what she just said and share, “It will have to wait. I have a date with Adam.”

“Adam, the vampire you work with at the Community Center Adam?”

“He's gorgeous, isn't he?”

“All vampires are gorgeous by definition. Rose, I know you haven't been out in a while but is this a good decision?”

Isa is judging based on stories of vampire dates turned bad. I work with these suckers. Not all of them are bad guys. Adam volunteers at the centre more than I do. Vampire with a bleeding heart. Take that you naysayers!

“It's one date. He won't give me a kiss. Adam's really nice and a gentleman.”

She chortles, “Weren't they all two hundred years ago?”

“Shut up. Let's not talk about Adam and me. That will be for tomorrow,” I take out my lipstick to do a retouch, “What is it that you need help with.”

“I'm in love with your brother,” Isa blurts out without warning and my hand jerks a long trail of purple lipstick across my right cheek.

“Hugo?!” I want to confirm.

“Well, Sam and Brian are twelve. Sadly, it's not them.”

This is news to me. It's big news that I really do not have time for right now.

“When did this happen?” I multi-task, and remove the purple lipstick from my face.

Isa rattles off, “The other day, last week, five months ago, seven years ago, since I've known him, take your pick.”

“So this is why Russ is history?” she nods, and I think back, maybe Al as well, “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes, no, I don't know,” Isa replies vaguely; she is making my head swirl, “I hate the woman he's dating.”

“You set them up,” I remind her.

“I know. I get insanely jealous when they're kissing.”

“You're not making any sense.”

“I know,” she admits again, “But I need your help. What am I going to do?”

I feel for Isa. She is my best friend. I would do anything for her. But this thing between her and Hugo is complicated. This will take all night to sort out with no guarantees of being resolved. Worse, I could make a giant mess out of it.

A brilliant idea pops up in my head.

“Listen, I don't have experience in that is-it-or-isn't-it-unrequited-love-for-my-best-friend bullshit. I would help but as you know, with Hugo, it is complicated like a minefield fraught with emotionally devastating complications. You should go to an expert and I know just the person to see. Go ask my Mum.”

“Aunt Hermione? No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she knows Hugo.”

I take her hand and start pulling her gently to the door.

“Even better,” I say convincingly, “She knows what will work and what won't. Give it a try.”

I think she is still worried but at least she is walking away.

“Tell me all about it tomorrow!” I shout after her, “Not earlier than noon!”

Phew! Now where was I?

Someone's at the door. I open. It's still not Adam.

“Come in,” I say to my brother, and I interrupt before he opens his mouth, “Don't tell me. You need to talk.”

Hugo frowns, “How do you know?”

“Is it a full moon out there? Or a sign on my door that says, `Free advice. Come in.'?”

“Huh?” I confuse my brother.

“Let me guess. You want to talk about Isa. You think of her as more than a friend and you want to tell her how you feel. But first, you want to know if she feels the same way because if not then you'd rather continue to hide your feelings from her, not effectively enough if I may add, because as you can tell I've noticed. And then there's the fact that you and I know Al still cares about her. You want me to tell you what to do.”

I summarize for him. Hugo is stunned but he knows me well enough not to mind.

“So what do I do?” he asks after he recovers.

I have had it. I go on a rant.

“Why does everybody think I have the answers to all these questions? Because I'm older by like two months? Or is it because I have the benefit of at least a dozen relationships with the opposite sex and you all think I'm an expert on it? Geez!”

Hugo just looks at me, speechless. I do what I did before.

“I have no experience falling in love with my best friend so I wouldn't know what to do about it. But you know who has experience?”

“Our Dads?”

“You got it. But I suggest Uncle Harry if you want to get the girl.”

Hugo hugs me, “By the way, you do have a degree in relationship counseling. According to that you are an expert. Thanks.”

Fancy that. Hugo is right. I do have a degree in relationship counseling.

My brother leaves and I am standing in the middle of the living room exhausted. What just happened? Oh dear Merlin, did I just send all three of them to Grimmauld at the same time?!

There's a knock on the door. I look up and it is Adam. Tall, handsome, with a great sense of humor for an old soul Adam. He has flowers in his hand.

I sigh, take the flowers, and apologize, “I'm sorry. Impending family crisis. Raincheck?”

After I send Adam on his way I take a smidgen of Floo powder and I get in touch with my Mum. Maybe they weren't at Grimmauld.

“Oh, hi Mum!” I try to sound upbeat but Mum is already on to me.

“Rose Weasley, it's 8:30. Do you have any idea why Al, Isa and Hugo appeared at my doorstep one after the other?”

“Maybe?” I have fun fibbing when it comes to my Mum, “Don't worry, Mum. I'm coming over to fix it.”

I floo. Mum meets me at the fireplace.

“Where are they?” I ask.

“In the kitchen,” she replies.

We see the three of them through the French doors. Uncle Harry is serving them tea.

“What is this about?” Mum asks.

“Mum, I know it's been a while since you've been a part of one but it's so obvious. It's a love triangle,” I explain.

“Oh,” my Mum sees it now and she is worried because she knows at least one of their boys was going to get hurt.

I look at three of my most favorite people in the world and it's clear to me what has to be done.

“Is Em in her room?” I ask about my soon to be 10-year-old sister.

“Sleep over with Juliet at your Dad's,” Mum answers, “Harry and I were going to go out.”

“Perfect,” I say, “Do you think you and Uncle Harry can disappear for at least a couple of hours?”

“I'm sure we can manage that,” Mum didn't put up a fuss.

Hmm…odd but I will take it.

I open the French doors to the kitchen and announce myself, “Step back! Love expert coming through!”

I order my Mum and Uncle Harry to leave then ask Al to wait outside. I take Hugo and Isa into the living room and light up the fireplace. They think I'm going mad but they will thank me for this for the rest of their lives.

I take Hugo's hand in my hand and Isa's hand in the other.

“All right,” I say as I bring their hands together, ”Mum and Uncle Harry are going out on a date. They will be gone for a long time. Em is sleeping over at Dad's. I'm leaving with Al. The house is empty. You need to talk and I mean really talk. Or better yet you can just look at each other like you are doing right now, oblivious to the rest of the world including me, and I'm pretty sure you'll know what this is about. Or you could kiss like that, that's pretty clear communicating too.”

I'm happy for them I have tears in my eyes. I am not needed in the room anymore and I have to stay with Al. I see him sitting on the porch steps, shoulders hunched over, withdrawn and in a lot of pain.

“I'm sorry, Al,” I say to him as we walk outside Grimmauld, “I've known for a while that Hugo loves her. And Isa just told me she loves him. It was going to happen with or without me and you were going to be roadkill. Let her go, Al. Hugo will take good care of her.”

Al nods, still speechless but I know he is listening.

“I've got ice cream in my fridge. Want some?”

-------------

Hermione, 53

I'm talking a stroll with Harry. It's been one very strange night. We were on our way out when the Al, Isa and Hugo dropped by unexpectedly. I was quite worried we weren't going to be able to leave.

Harry notices something, “You seem to be taking all that in stride.”

He is referring to the thing between Hugo and Isa. I shrug.

“He could do worse. Isa we know and love,” I reply, “But I feel bad for Al.”

“I know what you mean,” Harry is also concerned, “Sometimes I wish he would fall in love as quickly as Rose does.”

I am somewhat appalled, “Are you encouraging my daughter's ability to switch boyfriends like they were some designer fashionwear?”

“No,” he always defends Rose, “I'm merely pointing out that she's special because she has this immense capacity to love. I hear she's practically at the center every day. She seems to be doing really well at the IMAN too. And I haven't met a boyfriend in at least a couple of years. She's settling down.”

“I hope so, Harry,” I share, “I worry about her.”

“She will be fine,” Harry reassures me, “And I think Al will eventually be okay too.”

We walk for a bit and then he asks mischievously, “How much time do you think Hugo and Isa need to, um, sort things out?”

“That's difficult to say,” I reply, “From our experience it took us all night and into the morning.”

We remember and share a knowing smile.

“Maybe we can stay at a hotel?” he suggests.

“You wait your turn,” I scold him, “It's my turn tonight.”

“Okay, what do you have for us tonight, Granger? I vote hotel.”

I ignore the boyish pleas of a horny one-track mind.

“This is much better. You know the drill,” I reply, “Close your eyes.”

He does as I ask and he always has a smile on his face when he does this. I take his hand in mine and we side along. Harry's reaction when he opens his eyes warms my heart.

We are at our pond in the Forest of Dean. Charmed string instruments are playing soft music. There's a bonfire close to the edge of the water, a table, two chairs, dinner plates warming nearby, Harry's favorite wine and a see-through canvass tent set up for two.

He turns to me and asks, “What are you up to?”

“I don't know what you mean,” I smile, “It's just dinner and maybe stargazing later...”

He suddenly picks me up, throws me on his shoulder and heads for the tent.

I am laughing at what he is doing.

“Harry! Wait! Put me down! I prepared a riveting tale of true and undying love! I'm not done setting this up!”

But he is determined, “I'm really sorry, your tale will have to wait. This is your fault.”

“How is this my fault?”

He takes me inside the warm confines of the tent, sets me down on the cozy cushions and joins me. With advanced planning I see no need for us to be cold while naked and to sleep on the hard forest floor.

“Thirty years ago to the day,” he is smiling from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling, “I remember.”

I'm glad he does.

“Twenty seconds, Potter. It certainly took you long enough.”

He silences me with his lips. We kiss, at first gentle and sweet. In no time we are swept by compelling desire, much like how it was thirty years ago. We are kissing heavily and passionately until we are overwhelmed by want and no amount of zealous kissing can gratify our need to touch.

We slowly undress each other. The feel of his bare skin on mine ignites my flesh and his caress fuels the fire. The pleasure of his lips and his hands touching every inch of me is both dizzying and maddening. As we make love unhurriedly under the moonlight, our eyes meet and we fill each other with affection.

It is this that breaks our resolve. I instinctively shift to make room for him and he plunges himself deep into me with all the intensity of his yearning. Surrendering all of myself to him, he takes me again and again, each thrust deeper and more pleasurable than the one before.

I am so close and so is he. I touch his mind with mine and we connect just as waves of pleasure erupt within me. I lose control. He feels all I feel and he comes with immeasurable passion, emptying himself completely into me with one final thrust. Then his emotions hit me and I find myself completely immersed in his own astounding climax, coming on the heels of mine.

I scream out his name.

With considerable effort he shifts to my side and takes my body with him. We lie motionless and breathing heavily for a good solid minute. I am weak and exhausted as he holds me. We don't speak because we can't. It usually takes a while to regain full function.

After some time I feel him kiss my hair.

I hear him say, “That was amazing.”

“Yes it was.”

“It's too bad we have to wait a few days to do it again,” he complains of its physiologic limitations.

“Uh-huh.”

I feel him move. He is facing me.

“So, my love, I am dying to know. Why did you bring me here?”

I turn towards him and see him looking on, “It's been thirty years to the day since you first charmed me into taking my clothes off. Isn't that enough cause for celebration?”

“Whoa! Wait a minute,” he is pretending to protest, “I did not charm you into undressing. If I remember correctly you seduced me.”

“I did not seduce you,” I argue, “If anything you seduced me.”

“I beg to disagree…”

I kiss him on the mouth and he kisses me back. I pull away and can't help the smirk on my face. If he liked that surprise he will like this even more. I sit up and put on his shirt which is close by.

“There is one other thing,” I say to him as I motion him to sit in front of me.

He is set and waiting patiently. Holding out my hand, I lift the disillusionment charm off my finger. Harry is all smiles as he sees that I'm wearing my engagement ring.

Taking his hand in mine, I gaze into his beautiful kind eyes and say, “Harry, you are my true and undying love. My love for you is unconditional and it has withstood the test of time. You will make me the happiest woman on earth if you agree to take me as your wife. I would be honoured to be Mrs. Potter. Harry, will you marry me?”

It is my first proposal and tears are streaming down my face.

Harry looks at me with complete devotion and admiration and replies, “Hermione, you are an amazing woman. You are my true and undying love. I love you no matter what. Of course I will marry you.”

XXXXXXXX

The Keeper report Card:

1. DH and Epilogue Canon compliant - check

2. Ginny and Ron alive - check

3. HHr forever - check

Epilogue checklist:

1. Will Harry and Hermione have another child? - check

2. What will Hermione do with the engagement ring? - check

3. Will Hugo get over his crush on Isa? - check

4. Will Lily ever forgive Harry? - oh, right, missed this one if you wanted a yes, not my fault as Lily has refused to budge. I think she just needs more time.

I may have to break one more literary rule to completely resolve Lily's storyline. There is also this nagging thought that while the Harry and Hermione outcome in this one is I think amazing, they deserve an even more amazing one after what I've put them through.

So here is a question for you.

Epic-logue or should I leave it the way it is?

I will await your vote on this one. As always, I aim to please.

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